


Catastrophe

by Juliska



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Epic Battles, Eye Trauma, Friendship, Prisoner of War, Racism, Sadism, The Feast of Winter Veil, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 88,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliska/pseuds/Juliska
Summary: The failed assault on the Broken Shore was a disaster for the Alliance, Horde, and all of Azeroth.  The Legion has gained a foothold on Azeroth and it seems all that awaits its inhabitants is either slavery or the flames, especially as the factions descend into conflict with one another.  What does it mean for a normal group of Horde soldiers?





	1. Failure

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler notes: Spoilers for Legion and the pre-patch.
> 
> Situations and settings are largely trademarked to Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission and profit. Just a fan work.

It had been so different on the way to battle that it was hard to believe that it was the same group of soldiers. Many of them had been laughing, boasting how many demons they planned to slay. They had all known it was going to be a deadly mission for a great number of them, but it had somehow seemed as if it would work out.

It always had in the past.

This time had been very different.

_I am going to kill that goblin. I am going to throw her off the side of the ship the first chance I get._

The thought and the vision it invoked gave the young sin'dorei huntress a sort of dark satisfaction, the first that she had gotten in hours. It quickly passed as the wooden wall that she was leaning up against creaked and moaned again. She tensed and listened, and noticed a few others doing so as well. The ship heaved portside before righting itself, and after a few seconds it was obvious that it was only the violent waves.

The words that the idiot goblin had blurted out only an hour after their retreat echoed in her ears.

_"They're gonna follow us! We're sitting ducks out here! This ship doesn't even have enough cannons!"_

It had been a thought that, strangely, had not really occurred to Belidora before then, but now it was a thought that would not go away. Every time the ship moaned or shifted, she tensed. The waters were much more violent than they had been on the journey to the Broken Isles. Even Azeroth itself seemed to be aware of their failure and the disaster it would allow.

The goblin had eventually been shut up by an especially large orc warrior. She did not know his name for certain, but she heard another call him Darthgrom. It was an odd name, but seemed to fit him, with the large scars running down both sides of his face. He had stomped his way across the floor and shook the small girl, stooping to snarl something in her face. The goblins eyes had grown large and she wordlessly nodded until the orc had let her go.

Belidora let out a sigh, forcing herself to sit up straighter and lean against the wood. She reached down and held her side, sighing as she felt the wet stickiness of blood. It had seeped through the bandage. The sensation of something dripping down her forehead told her the bandage for the wound there had leaked through as well. She would have to change them soon.

They had all been told brusquely to bandage their wounds as well as they could so the healers could focus on more pressing cases. She glanced toward the front of the ship, where the more grievously wounded lay. Next to them a Forsaken priest and a troll shaman worked, silently for the most part, only occasionally speaking to each other in hushed tones. They went from one unconscious soldier to the next, obviously trying a great number of different spells.

Many of those at the front of the ship would die. She had seen enough injuries similar to theirs to know that fact. No healer on Azeroth could fix some things.

She closed her eyes and reached over, stroking the fur of the wolf that had been her companion for the better part of a year now. It was massive, one of the frostwolves that the orcish clan had taken their name from. She had managed to tame one while exploring the odd world of Draenor, and it had been her fierce protector since then. Now the she-wolf lay by her side with its massive head on her knees, its breathing steady as if asleep, but the elf could see its eyes watching the other soldiers as they paced around the cabin

A cough followed by a sickly sounding moan came from a cordoned off room. The door had been shut the entire time since they had gotten back to the ship, but it was obvious that that was where most of the healers were. They were doubtlessly trying to save the Warchief.

"What is taking them so long?" a voice sighed in Thalassian. "He should be fine by now."

Belidora looked up to see a quite beautiful mage, dressed in light blue. Her black hair was the same onyx color as Belidora's, but over her shoulder in a long braid instead of cropped short. She remembered seeing her as they crowded onto the ship in Orgrimmar, and in truth had probably seen her in Silvermoon as well, although she had never spoken to her. Really the only thing she could remember about her was the distaste she seemed to show for even being on the ship in the first place. Her name was Liralina, she believed.

"The Warchief's injury is . . . pretty bad," Belidora answered back in her native tongue. She looked to her left at the troll huntress that had been sitting there silently the entire time, hoping that she did not understand. She showed no reaction, so that was good.

"He's a troll! They grow back entire limbs," the mage snapped back. "We've tried killing them for centuries, remember?"

"The Darkspear are . . . different, I guess," Belidora said tiredly. "Vol'jin is in really bad shape. I'm sure they're trying . . ."

"We need the healers out here. They are wasting their time if he is going to die. We need help too or even more people will die."

The other elf's voice was loud, and it rattled in the girl's already aching head. _Mages are all the same_ , Belidora thought. The words tumbled out of the huntress's mouth before she could stop them. "What do you care? You were complaining that it was hot and crowded the entire way here. Look! Not crowded anymore! Happy?"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips as she realized how true they were. The ship had been packed full on the trip there. Now, even with the survivors from the other vessels, it was barely a quarter the number.

The mage looked initially chastised, but then narrowed her eyes at her and walked closer. Belidora sighed and looked down at the floor, not wanting the conversation to continue, until she noticed that the words the mage was muttering were not ordinary words. She looked up quickly and saw the frost begin to form between the woman's fingers. It was a weak spell, but it would still be painful. She shut her eyes tight and waited for the sudden shock.

"Hey!" a gutteral voice snapped. It was Darthgrom again. He walked over to them, arms crossed. "No fighting, you fools. And be quiet. There are injured here that need to rest. Whichever of you starts this again, I will break your jaw. Understood."

The mage huffed. "You can't threaten me."

"I believe I just did," he answered coldly. "Get away from the wounded. What kind of coward threatens an injured ally over an argument? Go. Sit down."

Liralina sighed and stormed off. Belidora watched her go, suddenly feeling much colder. It was almost as if the spell had been cast anyway. The orc stood in front of her, but she kept her eye level at his knees.

"And you. You shouldn't pick fights you can't win. And keep your voice down. None of us are enjoying this situation, and your yelling is not helping," he said shortly, then turned away.

She started to protest her innocence, but decided against it. Others from across the room were staring at her, including some of the other sin'dorei, who obviously knew what she had said in anger. She kept her eyes on her wolf, refusing to meet their gazes. She reached down and stroked her white fur again. She hated most mages, had for most of her life. They had always been afforded opportunities that were outside of her reach.

A hand clasped her shoulder suddenly and she jumped. It pulled away. She looked over and saw the troll that had been sitting next to her looking down at her seriously. She was much taller than the elf, with wild red hair and golden eyes.

"What were ju talkin' 'bout?" she asked.

"Nothing important."

"Lia'. Ju were talkin' 'bout da Warchief. Vol'jin. I heard dat much," the troll replied, looking back down at her bow. It was quite ornate and had obviously seen a lot of use. "What did ju say?"

Belidora looked away, not answering. The troll watched her for quite some time, then set her bow down and reached over, stroking her own pet. It was a white nightsaber, sleeping peacefully on the wooden floor.

"Your pet is beautiful," the elf said gently, desperate to break the silence.

The troll looked back at her, narrowing her eyes. "Ju didn't answer my question."

"I . . . I hope the Warchief is okay. I really do. I just don't understand."

"Unda'stand what?"

"Shouldn't he have healed by now? That's what you trolls do."

"Dere be limits to everyt'ing, little one," the troll sighed. "We not be invincible. Not even him." The troll's face darkened as she spoke, and she picked up her bow again, thumbing the feathers attached to the side of it. "His fadda' died. We all die some time." The lines on her forehead betrayed her pain.

Belidora sighed. "I'm sorry. He's your chieftain. I know it must be . . . difficult."

"I know him very well," the troll said quietly. "If death does claim 'im, I will make sure dat it claims da demons who did dis as well."

"You might have to wait in line for that."

The troll smiled, the first time Belidora had seen it, although it was a sad smile. "Dere will be plenty for all of us. I'm Tikhuna of da Darkspea'. Who you be?"

"Belidora of Silvermoon, I guess."

"Ya a hunter, like me. Ya not dressed as a ranger though."

"I'm not one. They don't let people like me into the Farstriders."

The troll shrugged. "Dat's okay. Ya still fight for da Horde. Good enough."

The door to the room opened with a creak, and both of them turned their attention that way. A teal skinned orc stepped out, followed by a sin'dorei priestess. They turned and spoke to a figure blocking the view inside of the door. It was Baine Bloodhoof, the young chieftain of the Tauren. He looked both angry and scared, but he whispered curt orders to both of them before closing the door again. The two healers exchanged a look and then went to the wounded.

The orc walked over to the two of them and knelt down. Belidora smiled weakly as he got close enough for her to recognize. "Hello, Phogrim. How is . . . The Warchief doing?"

He sighed and lifted up her chin with his hand. He was massive, even larger than Darthgrom, and would have made a fine warrior. He may have been one at one time. Now he was a skilled shaman, and the only orc that Belidora actually believed to be her friend. His demeanor was off, though. He was usually cheerful and funny, but his face bore only a cold, almost angry stare.

He ignored the question. "Let us get those bandages off. They aren't doing anything at this point, anyway," he said quietly, hooking a nail under between the bandage and the skin and pulling it off gently. The blood was pulled through her dark hair, but at least it was not painful. "That will leave a nasty scar. You are lucky that whoever cut you did not cleave the top of your skull off." He reached down and gently tore away the bandage wrapped around her torso and sighed. "It's a wonder that you did not black out. Lie down."

She frowned at him, but moved the wolf over and did so, lying on her side with her head on the wolf's side. The fur smelled of sulfur and she turned over onto her back so it was not as strong. Phogrim held his hands over her head and side and whispered some words under his breath. Tendrils of water formed and touched the wounds, sealing them off. It felt cold and pleasant at the same time.

"I don't have time to do anything about the blood loss you've already suffered. It's going to be an uncomfortable trip home," he said once he was done. "That should help with the pain, though, and at least the bleeding has stopped. Did you kill the demon that did this to you?"

She opened her mouth, as if to answer, but then paused. That was a strangely difficult question to answer. The battle had been fierce and the chaos of it had led to her swinging her spear blindly after being struck. It had been hard to see. "I don't really remember," she admitted.

"Well, say you did. It makes for a better story."

She started to smile at him, thinking it a joke, but saw that his face still had a dark look to it. There was something else as well. He looked completely drained and, well, defeated. He seemed to notice her staring at him and ruffled her hair gently. "I'll find you some water and something to eat, but you need to try and sleep."

He got up to try and leave, but Tikhuna grabbed his hand. "Sir. Please, ju gotta tell me..."

"The Warchief is...still alive," he said shortly. "I'm sorry, that's all I can say." He gave her a pained look and pulled his hand away, walking off. Tikhuna's hand dropped to her side and she rubbed her face.

After a few minutes Phogrim came back with a skin of water and a few pieces of jerky. "This is all I could find. Here. Eat it," he said, handing it to Belidora. She took it cautiously and stuck it in her mouth, chewing with some difficulty. He handed the other piece to Tikhuna, who took it and simply stared at it.

He sighed. "Here. Drink," he whispered to the elf.

She sat up and grabbed the skin, taking a deep drink of it. It was cold and tasted wonderfully sweet. She kept drinking until the orc pulled it away.

"Please. Try to sleep, okay? You're in rough shape," he said quietly, pushing her back down. She stared at him for a few moments before her eyelids became heavy. She vaguely could hear him whispering to the troll as she blacked out. "Keep an eye on her."

#

The voice was faint and garbled. There was a dull pain in Belidora's shoulder that became more intense slowly as the voice got clearer and clearer.

"Wake up. Come on, wake up. Please," she heard faintly. It sounded like she was underwater, but it slowly cleared.

She opened an eye and saw a blurred green face. "Hey! Stay with me." She felt another sharp pain in her shoulder and realized that whoever it was was shaking her. She instinctively grabbed toward where she had left her spear, only to find it gone.

"Hey, it's just me. Calm down," the voice said. It seemed strangely familiar.

"Phogrim?"

"Yeah. It's me. It took me awhile to get you to wake up."

She looked around tiredly. The ship was empty except for the two of them. She glanced down and noticed she was covered up with a blanket. When she raised her hand to rub her still sore forehead, she saw a small trinket on a thin leather cord wrapped around her palm. It was a small wooden Darkspear emblem. She stared at it in confusion for a moment before asking, "How long was I asleep?"

"I don't think you were asleep at all. I think you blacked out. Like I said, you lost a lot of blood. But, to answer your question, you were out about six hours," he said, putting a large hand under her back and getting her into a sitting position. She winced as the pain in her side shot through her body. Although the wound was no longer bleeding, it was still not completely healed. He looked at the trinket. "Looks like you made a friend. She kept an eye on you for me."

Belidora nodded dumbly, gripping it. She sat there for a few seconds, slowly realizing that she was shaking badly. It felt like she was freezing. "Did I miss anything?"

He frowned at her. "I'll explain on the way back to my place. You'll be stuck in Orgrimmar for awhile." He put his arm around her and pulled her to her feet slowly. She stood that way for a moment before her knees buckled. He caught her quickly. "Well, that's not going to work. Here." He turned around and pulled her onto his back. "Hold on."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "This is embarassing," she said tiredly as he started to walk. Her wolf trotted alongside him.

"The other option is us taking three hours to get home while you crawl," he said bluntly, climbing to the deck. It was dusk and a rare rain was falling on Durotar. His voice, while lighter than it had been earlier, was still starkly serious. He held onto her legs and walked easily down off of the deck and onto the shore.

The cacophony of noise and activity that had happened during their departure was gone. Instead, the beach was largely deserted, with only a few peons carrying equipment back toward the city gates. Belidora leaned her head against the back of Phogrim's head, then noticed something in the distance.

There were a large number of soldiers carrying wood and stacking it up on a stage like area that had been recently and hastily built. She watched them silently as Phogrim got closer, then hesitantly asked, "What are they building?"

He took a long moment to reply. He kept walking, not slowing his pace and not looking back at her. For a moment she wondered if he heard the question. At last, he got to just in front of it and stopped walking. There was a Horde banner, quite new and obviously stitched with a great deal of care, flying in front of it.

Finally, he said quietly. "A funeral pyre."

Belidora did not reply to him at first. She just stared at it blankly for what must have seemed like an eternity, twisting the cord that the troll huntress had given her in her hand. She expected to feel more, or at least something, but she only felt tired and cold.

"Oh," was all she said, finally. "I see." The monotone and coldness in her own voice disturbed her, but the numbness overwhelmed any emotion she had. She gripped the trinket tighter and leaned her head against his again. She felt him sigh and start walking again.

The guards at the gate looked up when they walked by, but there was no greeting, just a slight look of pity.

"We tried. We really did," she heard the shaman say quietly. It was obvious he was speaking to himself as much as he was to her. He kept his head down, but kept a decent pace.

The normally loud and chaotic streets of Orgrimmar were largely quiet. Those that were out spoke to each other in quiet tones. Belidora saw an elderly Tauren weeping, being comforted by a troll. She heard her say something about her son in between sobs. The sin'dorei quickly turned away before they would notice they were being watched.

Phogrim started talking again. "We tried everything. The elements, the Light . . . None of it worked. It only seemed to make it worse," he said, his voice turning into a slight growl. "Why did none of it work?"

She jumped as his hands tightened around her ankles. He immediately loosened his grip. "Sorry . . . It's just . . ."

"What happened to him?"

"Some sort of fel . . . Poisoning. Or corruption," he said angrily. "We even had the Forsaken look at him. They know all about these poisons. That was the best explanation they could give." His shoulders sagged as he walked up the hill towards the Drag and his home.

When he spoke again, the anger was mostly gone, replaced with a dull sounding pain. "His veins turned black as it spread through his body. After awhile, he told us to leave and go see to the rest of you. I think he figured out nothing we were doing was going to help." He paused. "Well, actually, he said that from the beginning, but we kind of didn't hear his orders."

"He was awake?"

Phogrim nodded. "Pretty much the whole time. All those hours, poor guy. He made it all the way back to Grommash Hold and named the new Warchief before he died. That's what they said, at least."

Belidora blinked. Of course. "Who?"

"The banshee. Sylvanas," Phogrim muttered. They were back at his house, and he ducked down to keep from hitting her head on top of the door. He knelt down in front of a chair and set her down, helping her get seated.

Belidora looked at him suspiciously. "Really? Sylvanas?"

He shrugged. "She's your people. Those inside said that he named her Warchief right as he died. They didn't really go into detail beyond that." He looked towards the door and shut it, then walked back over to her. He crossed his arms. "So. Tell me about her."

"I don't really know her," Belidora said, leaning her head on the table. "She's older than me. I was still a kid when she was already pretty high ranking in the Farstriders. She was Ranger-General when she . . . Well, when she died. She fought very well and bravely from what everyone said. She knows how to command."

Phogrim frowned. "It doesn't sound like what I've heard about her. Well, I have heard that, but I've heard other things as well."

"Well . . . They say she isn't the same person she was in life. I don't think any of the Forsaken are."

He sat on a chair across from her and leaned closer. "You know I would never betray your trust, right?" When she nodded, he continued. "Can we trust her with our lives? Can she be a good Warchief?"

She stared back at him, her green eyes glowing in the dimly lit room. After a few moments she spoke. "I hope so. I guess we have to." It was not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was the most honest one.

"Do you think she'll be like Garrosh?"

Belidora shook her head slowly. "No. Even if she isn't exactly the most . . . noble leader, she saw what happened to him. She's smart enough not to try, I think."

He shrugged and got up, then walked over to his small hearth and lit a fire with a motion of his fingers. He opened up a jar of what appeared to be broth, then dumped it in the pot, putting it over the fire. "Guess we'll find out," he sighed. "You need to eat something. We fought on the Broken Shore. We will be expected at the funeral tonight. At least the rain washed most of the blood off of us."

She rubbed her face and winced as it pulled on the still healing scar on her forehead. "Yeah. Do you have something to dry off with?"

He waved his hand behind him and a strong gust of wind buffeted her for a couple of seconds. It was not painful, just cold. When it was over she glared at him. "You son of a bitch."

He laughed, grabbing a skin off of another chair and draping it over her shoulders. "Here. You should have been specific," he said, smiling at her. When he got a weak smile in return, he returned to his cooking.

Belidora leaned forward and rested her head on the table again, covering up with the skin. She was not sure what beast it had come from, but it was large enough to cover the orc, so it completely enveloped her. She pulled it up over her head until only her face was showing. "So. Is there anything else I need to know?"

Phogrim did not look at her and instead tossed some mushrooms into the soup. "You're not to leave Orgrimmar or any other city without a weapon and armor, and really you're not supposed to leave alone. The guards will stop you at the gates. The merchants will probably be angry about it, but Saurfang's orders. Zeppelins have also been grounded. Like I said, you're stuck in Orgrimmar for awhile, because I'm not letting you go anywhere on foot by yourself in the shape you're in."

"Awww, you do care."

He ladled some soup out into two small clay bowls and set one down in front of her. "Yes, I do. Plus, I don't want to have a meeting with the guards or with the High Overlord about why I let an injured soldier leave who then got her scrawny ass captured by the Legion before she even got to the Crossroads."

She took the bowl and put it to her lips, drinking it slowly. It was bland, but he had probably intended it to be to keep her from getting sick. Her hands were still shaking badly, but at least it warmed her. "Being a prisoner of the Legion would be horrible," she whispered. "I'd rather be dead."

"I think we all would be. Hence the weapons. Don't let them take you alive."

She nodded, setting the bowl down. She stared at the mushrooms floating in it. They were an odd shape and color, but she had seen them before when she had wandered down into the Cleft of Shadow a few years before. A merchant had shown them to her eagerly and had even given her some to sample for free. From stories that she had heard of him, he was a good and brave orc, and had even stood up to Garrosh's Kor'kron, but he was no warrior. There were so many like him in Orgrimmar, in Thunder Bluff, in Silvermoon. Brave, good people who, due to age or training, had no business fighting. What about them?

Belidora picked up the bowl and started eating again, closing her eyes, when Phogrim spoke again. The same tired tone he had back at the ship had returned. "There are rumors spreading around. It's not only the Legion we need to worry about. The Alliance is on the brink of declaring war on us."

"What? Why?"

"Their High King is dead. Wrynn. He died on the Broken Shore. Their people cry out for vengeance against us."

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. It was news she had obviously not expected. She stared at him, trying to figure out how true such a rumor could be, and the frown he gave her seemed to confirm it.

The shock and then frustration that the news brought started to make Belidora's head pound again. She set the bowl down and buried her face in her hands. "If he's dead, then the Legion killed him. They should want revenge against the demons that did this. That's not our fault."

"It's not?"

"Of course it's not," she snapped, until she saw the look on the orc's face. He looked so very tired.

"We were supposed to hold that ridge no matter what," he muttered angrily.

She sighed. "We tried. There were so many of them. We almost got wiped out as it was," she said, trying to make her tone a little more comforting, but failing miserably. "If we had stayed, we would have all died, and then where would that have left the Horde?"

"It would have left the Horde not at war with the Alliance _and_ the Legion," he muttered. "Maybe we should have died there. An honorable death in battle . . . It's better than what we have now. We've only invited war upon us."

Belidora sighed, pushing the bowl away and laying her head on the table, buried in her arms. The chainmail was freezing and not at all comfortable, but she needed to think. She wanted to tell him he was being irrational and that he was just being an orc, but there was truth to what he said. So instead she sat there, not entirely sure what to say until he spoke again.

"Finish your soup. It's getting cold."

She lifted up her head and pulled the bowl close again, staring at it. She took a sip and then put it back down, still looking at the mushrooms floating in it. They were getting blurrier and blurrier. "I just want this day to end," she whispered, slightly surprised when her voice cracked. Tears. That's why the mushrooms were blurry.

Phogrim finished his soup and tossed the clay bowl gently into a crate to wash later. "We still have a few hours left," he said bluntly, but his voice was a little more gentle. Well, gentle for an orc's. "You need to fix your tabard and wash the blood out of it. Get your tears out of the way now. There will be no crying tonight. You will show the strength of a true Horde warrior."

She looked at him and smiled weakly. "You know crying at funerals is normal, right?"

"Not here," he said.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed, taking another sip of the soup. It was beginning to make her feel sick, but she did not want to hurt his feelings or start another argument. "How could this have gone so wrong?" she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to fight, like we always do," he said, standing up and walked over, messing with her short hair again.

"Can we even fight them?"

"Remember the story of Broxigar the Red?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. And he died too."

"Well, then we will either be victorious or we will give Sargares reason to remember the Horde for the next ten thousand years."

#

_**The previous night...** _

_The tavern across from Grommash Hold was loud and chaotic, but it was filled with laughter and lighthearted arguments and boasts in Orcish, Common, and the other half dozen languages of the Horde. Belidora smoothed her shirt down and walked up to the bar. She had gotten a few drinks from her friends before and she was feeling quite happy. Alcohol always took the edge off of an upcoming battle against demon armies._

_The bartender behind it was a green skinned orc with gray hair. He looked up and smiled at the sin'dorei. "I haven't seen you in months. How have you been, kid?"_

_She smiled at him. "I've been fine, Mork. How have you been? How are your kids?"_

_"Good, good. The boy has been begging me to buy him a sword all week long. I told him he had to go to training if he's going to be swinging one of those around," he said, grabbing a mug and slapping it down onto the bar. "Want some Eversong Wine? That's what all the other elves have been drinking. Just got a cask in yesterday. Good stuff. Has hints of, um, skethyl berries and milk and..."_

_"You're just making stuff up."_

_"Are you saying I don't know my trade?" he scoffed. "Come on now, order. Got customers behind you."_

_"Just some beer. Whatever's cheap."_

_He poured some in and handed it to her after collecting her copper coins. "You going to the battle tomorrow?" When he got a nod, he smiled. "You come back and see me, okay? I'll give you whatever you want on the house."_

_"Thank you, Mork. I promise I will if I'm able," she said, smiling back. "Shorel'aran."_

_She turned away and looked around. There was nowhere to sit in the small tavern and really there was relatively few places to stand. She squeezed past a few Tauren and managed to get into a corner where at least she would not be bumped into. She tasted the beer - it was worth about as much as the ten coppers she had paid for it, but at least it would do the job._

_Belidora glanced up and noticed a tall, handsome red haired sin'dorei watching her. He was at a small table with two other elves and he leaned over and whispered something to them before getting up and walking over._

_"Hello," he said in Thalassian. "You're a long way from Quel'thalas."_

_"So are you," she said, taking another drink from her beer. He was much taller than her, and judging from his robes he was of a much higher class as well. Still, he was quite stunning._

_"Are you fighting tomorrow?"_

_"Yes. Are you?"_

_"Of course. Why else would I be here in this orange hole in the ground?" he asked, drinking some of his wine._

_"I've been here more often than Silvermoon the last few years. It's not that bad," she replied, looking around. "Just very . . . Hot."_

_"I'm afraid I have not traveled much. You must have so many tales to tell. I would love to hear them."_

_She smiled at him. "Maybe you will someday."_

_"Come now, don't be coy," he said, lifting her chin with his finger and pecking her on the cheek. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't spend the night before battle alone."_

_She blushed and giggled, but pulled back slightly. "I don't even know your name."_

_"Does it matter? You won't need it to do what you obviously want to do."_

_She looked at him slyly. It was tempting, although she was not sure if it was the alcohol or not. 'It doesn't really matter. There's a chance that it will all be over anyway tomorrow,' she thought. "Very well. You are victorious," she laughed._

_He smiled and put an arm around her waist, walking back toward the table where the other elves sat. When they were still several feet away, a large green hand clamped onto his shoulder. The two turned around. It was Phogrim, smiling, with his arms crossed. "Are you taking my sister somewhere?"_

_The man looked at the orc and then back at Belidora, obviously confused. Belidora pushed his hand away from her waist and stepped forward. "I'm fine, Phogrim. I'm busy right now," she hissed._

_"I can see that," he laughed, switching to Orcish since he knew she could speak it well enough to understand him. "You're drunk."_

_"I am not."_

_"Excuse me, orc," the red haired elf said, grabbing onto Belidora's arm a little too tight and jerked it slightly back towards the table, causing her to wince. That seemed to snap her out of her bubbly mood and she frowned at the other elf. "We have things to do."_

_"I'm sure you do. Just not with her," the orc said, looking down at where the blood elf was gripping her arm, then back up at his eyes. "Like I said, she's my sister, and you're hurting her. Leave unless you want me to do the same to you."_

_The elf hesitated for a long moment before releasing his grip and stomped back to the table with the others. Belidora watched him go, then turned back to Phogrim. "I don't need your protection. I can take care of myself."_

_Phogrim put his hand behind her shoulder and led her back to his table. A blue haired troll was sitting there. He was one of Phogrim's friends, a fellow shaman, although Belidora had only talked to him once or twice. His name escaped her at the moment. He was chuckling, evidently having watched the entire thing._

_She took a seat across from him and scowled at him. "It's not funny, troll."_

_"He be a warlock, girl. Dat elf. He eat you alive, or rip ya soul out. You be nothin' but easy prey for a mon like dat and his friends."_

_She frowned over at Phogrim, who was watching her, grinning mischievously. "I'm going to kill you," she muttered._

_"You're welcome," he laughed, pushing a glass toward her. It was filled with some strange concoction than the trolls favored. She tasted it. It was sweet and she had to admit that it wasn't bad._

_"I thought you said I was already drunk."_

_"You are. Might as well keep drinking. Past the point of no return now."_

_A loud slam came from behind them. They turned around and saw an old orc standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. It was High Overlord Saurfang. "All right! If you are fighting tomorrow, go home and rest. We have an army of demons to slay and I will not have the Alliance slay more than us."_

_There was laughter throughout the tavern and a cheer of "For the Horde!" went up. The troll slid his chair back and got to his feet. The other two did as well, and they walked out of the tavern. It was rapidly getting dark out, and it was a rare cool evening in Orgrimmar. They started walking down the dirt road toward the Drag. Belidora noticed that the other two, despite their admonishment, were not walking any straighter of a line than she was._

_Belidora started to fall a few paces behind the other two, since for every step they took she had to almost take two. A few orc children, a boy and a girl, ran past laughing. The sin'dorei smiled at them, a bit drunkenly, and looked around for Phogrim's house. She felt a tug on her cloak. She turned around and saw the girl smiling up at her. She was a cute thing, with her black hair in pigtails._

_"Are you a fighter?" she asked._

_"Yeah. Are you guys gonna fight?" the boy, who was just behind the girl, asked._

_Phogrim and the troll had stopped and turned around. The large orc smiled. "Yes. We are."_

_The little girl reached into her pocket and pressed a small coin shaped object into each of their hands. "Matron Battlewail had us make these today for you. It will help bring you victory, she said," the girl said brightly._

_Belidora looked down at hers. It was a small clay disk with a small Horde insignia drawn on it crudely, obviously by a child's hand. Matron Battlewail - they were kids from the orphanage down the street. She smiled at the girl. "Thank you. I'm sure it will. I will keep it with me the whole time. I promise." The troll and the orc also gave an affirmative answer._

_The boy was watching them, a little pensive. He was smaller than the girl and obviously a little younger. "Can I ask you something?" he asked Phogrim, evidently more comfortable talking to the orc._

_"Of course."_

_"Do you think you'll win? Aren't you scared? I am. What if they come here?"_

_Phogrim smiled and patted his head. "Of course we can win. And don't worry. After tomorrow, they will fear us enough to never set foot in Durotar."_

_"We never be defeated before, little one," the troll laughed. "Isn't dat right, girl? Da Horde neva' gonna lose."_

_Belidora nodded, putting the disk in the pouch on her belt and looking at the two children. "Tell you what. When we get back from destroying the Legion, we'll come by and take you to get some ice cream, okay?"_

_The boy's nervousness disappeared and his face lit up. "Okay!"_

#

They never did go to buy the kids ice cream.

She pushed the thought out of her mind after making a note that she would eventually need to do it. She had no desire to face them and admit that everything they had told them turned out to be a lie.

Belidora sighed as she kept her hand in the wolf's fur, limping along slowly. Her pet at least helped support her, and after sleeping for an hour or so she felt a little stronger. It was still painfully slow to walk, but she refused Phogrim's offer to carry her again. She reached back with her free arm and adjusted the polearm strapped to her back. It was light and extremely well made, much better than the one she had before. It was also quite beautiful, if a weapon could be called that, with a crimson jewel in the spear point. Phogrim had handed it to her when they were ready to leave the house, explaining that it was a reward from the Horde for fighting well on the Broken Shore.

She wanted to throw it in the river on the way to the funeral, but he stopped her.

His weapon, a massive war mace, swung from his belt. It was covered in spikes and was barely visible in the moon and firelight.

She looked over near the gates as they were leaving the city as something red and white caught her eye. She tugged the wolf's fur gently to get her to change course and walked over to it.

Phogrim followed, tired and uninterested. "What are you doing?"

Belidora painfully knelt down and jerked the flowers out of the dirt. "Picking flowers for the funeral," she said simply, stumbling back to her feet.

Phogrim opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something snide, but he must have seen the look on his friend's face. Instead he simply smiled gently. "They're lovely. Come on. We don't want to be late."

They made their way out of the city gates. There was a large crowd gathered in front of the stage area. Phogrim motioned with his head at an area near the back by a hill. It was considerably less crowded there, and at least they would be able to see. She gripped the flowers tightly and followed him.

"We'll put them up there when it clears out a little. Just set them down for now," he whispered when they got there.

She set them gently on the hill, and he helped her up on top of it. The wolf followed her up and sat down next to her, yawning. She was usually fast asleep at this time of night. The fact that it started a few hours later than originally had been planned did not help matters.

Most of the other leaders of the Horde - save for the new Warchief - were up on the stage and appeared to be speaking to one another. None of them were smiling, but Phogrim had been right, no one on the stage or in the crowd seemed to be crying either. She squinted to see what was going on better. She recognized her own leader, the Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron, speaking to the much taller Baine Bloodhoof. It was impossible to know what was said between the two, but when it was done the blood elf patted the young leader on his shoulder and turned away, looking out over the crowd.

A little harder to see was the Trade Prince Gallywix, since his head was several feet below the others. Belidora had never met the goblin, but from what she had heard, she was fortuitous in that. He was speaking to someone on the ground below the stage. The leader of the newest members of the Horde, Ji Firepaw, simply stood near the edge of the stage, his head bowed and eyes closed.

There was something else on the stage. On top of the stack of freshly cut wood was a wrapped figure. Her sharp elven eyes could make out the outline of a wooden mask and one tusk. She sighed and rolled the small troll trinket around in her fingers again.

They stood in relative quiet for several minutes until several in the crowd turned their attention back to the city gates. Lady Sylvanas Windrunner walked out, followed by several dark rangers. The crowd wordlessly parted and saluted as she walked past. She walked by, looking straight ahead until she made her way up onto the stage. The other leaders stepped out of her way and bowed as she walked past.

"I thought they didn't like her," Belidora whispered.

Phogrim shushed her. "Not now. Not here," he growled quietly.

Belidora sighed and turned her attention back to the stage. Sylvanas nodded silently to the others and slowly walked over, taking up a torch and lighting it on one of the pillars of fire next to the stage. She walked over to the pyre and stood there for a long moment, seemingly hesitant to start. Finally, she reached down and began lighting the corners of the pyre.

It took several minutes, but eventually the pyre and body were engulfed in flames. The young sin'dorei fidgeted slightly. She was used to funerals with long, elaborate speeches and music when someone important died. This was mostly silent, which made it even more uncomfortable. She stumbled slightly as her wolf suddenly lay down to go to sleep and she lost her support, but she was able to uneasily stand.

"Shouldn't they be giving speeches or something?" she whispered to Phogrim.

"I don't know. Just..." he started before the new Warchief's voice echoed through the crowd.

"Vol'jin is dead," she said. Her voice, although seemingly quiet, could be heard all the back where the two stood. Then again, she was a banshee. She turned around and looked out over the crowd for a few moments before speaking again.

"Who among you will help me avenge him?"

A loud roar went up through the crowd. Belidora listened to them for a second before joining in with a shout of "For Vol'jin." She winced when Phogrim roared next to her. She had heard it dozens of times in battle, but an orc's battle cry was still terrifying. Soon, the crowd began chanting "For the Horde!" with all joining in.

It took another hour for the sun the come over the horizon, but the mood had calmed a little. Evidently this new Warchief understood what the Horde needed so desperately. It was obvious that there was more to the ceremony, but they were seemingly waiting for daylight for the rest.

Belidora had slid down to the bottom of the small hill and was using its side to lean against. She yawned as she sat there, her wolf fast asleep next to her. The poor thing had not been able to stand it anymore, but she was not worried. There were Dark Rangers surrounding the perimeter of the crowd, and everyone who knew how to fight had their own weapons as well. Besides, they were not far from the city gates if something truly disastrous happened.

Phogrim had stayed on top of the hill. The troll from the tavern - who she surreptitiously determined went by Jof - was talking to him quietly. He, like the rest of the Darkspear Tribe, had been taking the death of their leader very hard. Still, when he had found the two alive at the funeral after the slaughter on the Broken Shore, he had run up and hugged both of them. Belidora imagined that Phogrim's hug had been a much less painful experience, but at least he apologized profusely afterwards.

Belidora closed her eyes and sighed. She was so tired. All she wanted to do at that point was to go to sleep. She rubbed her eyes and pulled out the small disc in her pocket. She ran her finger over the side with the Horde symbol and flipped it over. On the back in crudely written Orcish was "Love you. -Akra." It must have been the little girl's name.

She smiled as she looked down at it until her wolf started growling lowly. She glanced up to see that damned sin'dorei mage walking toward her.

_Oh no,_ she thought.

When Liralina got close, she brushed her robes off. The orange dust of Durotar got everywhere. She folded her arms, standing in front of the huntress. She looked as if she were wondering what to say for a moment, then finally shoved her hand in her face. "Give me your spear, girl."

"What? No!" Belidora blurted out at the odd request. Sure, she had tried to throw it away a few hours earlier, but she didn't want _her_ to have it.

The mage sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just give it here."

"You'll take it. It's mine," she snapped.

Liralina growled. "I have my own weapon. I don't want to take your stupid spear. If I wanted one, I'd buy one," she said, the frustration evident in her voice. "Give. It. Here."

Belidora glared at her for a moment, but slowly reached back and got the spear off of her back. The mage jerked it out of her hand and looked at it. She reached into a small silk pouch on her belt and pulled out a small bit of glowing powder. She muttered something under her breath and touched the powder to the weapon. Soon, the entire thing glowed brightly for an instant before fading.

Liralina shoved the spear back at Belidora. "Here. It should be much stronger now and less apt to shatter. It'd be a shame if one of those demons cut through it and into your skull."

The young huntress looked at the weapon laid across her lap. "How much do I owe you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Please. You don't have enough gold."

She would have been offended, but she knew it was probably true. Enchantments, especially of this nature, were extremely expensive. Instead of arguing, she looked up at her. "Thank you."

Liralina snorted, then turned away. "I'm sorry I tried to blast you back on the ship. You were scared. We all were." She walked away before Belidora could answer.

"Friend of yours?" Phogrim said from behind her.

She looked back. The sun was slowly peaking over the horizon. "No. Thanks for your help, by the way."

"Hey, I was watching. You said you wanted to handle things yourself, remember?"

A tall blood elf on a hawkstrider approached different groups slowly. Finally he made his way to Belidora, Phogrim, and Jof. "You three fought on the Broken Shore, right?" When they nodded, he continued. "The Warchief wants to personally thank you all. You're to make your way to the stage. Pledge fealty to her, and she'll give you whatever it is she wants to give you, and then you can go back to the crowd. It should take only a few minutes."

Belidora sighed and stabbed one end of the polearm into the ground, using it to help herself up. Getting in front of everyone was the last thing she wanted to do. Her wolf looked up at her and she pet her head gently. "You can stay here. I'll be right back." She left the flowers as well. She would be back to get them later.

Phogrim and Jof slid down the steep hill and walked beside her. "Maybe you shoulda brought dat wolf wit' you, hunta," Jof said, looking back.

"There's no room. Besides, we're just going up there for a minute, or at least I hope we are," she said tiredly. "And there are soldiers everywhere. It's fine."

"If ya say so," he said.

"Where were you on the ship, anyway?" Phogrim asked. "I didn't see you the entire way back."

"I be up on the deck, tryin' ta calm da elements," he said, shrugging. "Me and a few others. Didn't really work, but we had ta try."

"It seems a lot of things didn't work," Phogrim muttered.

They made it to the stage. There was a line to go up the stairs, although it was pitifully short. The others in the line looked similarly exhausted, but they stood tall and avoided looking out into the crowd or down at the ground. They'd show at least some pride.

Belidora looked over her shoulder at Jof. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered.

"Kneel when ya make it up there ta her," he said, shrugging again. "Just say what da other mons in front of ya say. Dat's what I be doin.'"

She sighed and stared at the back of the Forsaken priest in front of her. It took a few minutes, but eventually she stood in front of the Dark Lady.

She painfully dropped to one knee. "For blood and honor, Warchief," she said quietly. Sylvanas patted her on her shoulder. She struggled for a moment to get back to her feet, but she felt Jof behind her pulling on her tabard gently to help her. She would have to thank him later.

Sylvanas handed her a small metal trinket. "For your service to the Horde," the banshee said quietly. She smiled at the sin'dorei, but there was a look of stress in her eyes.

Belidora nodded. "Thank you, Warchief," she said, bowing her head again and getting out of the way. She started walking back toward the stairs to file down and looked down at the trinket. It was a small Forsaken symbol. She reached down and fumbled with the pouch on her belt to put it away when she bumped into something.

She looked up and saw a dark haired Forsaken glaring at her. He was dressed as a Dark Ranger, but he was a human. It took her a moment to remember his name. _Blightcaller_. "Sorry, sir," she said quickly. He rolled his eyes and turned back to look out at the crowd. He was never known to be the warmest person to deal with, but if ignoring her was the worst he was going to do, she would take it.

She limped back down the stairs and waited for her friends. They followed a few short moments later. "I think the ceremony is about over," Phogrim said. "Then we can go home and sleep. We need to. Especially you. You're never going to get better if you never rest."

Belidora nodded dumbly. "Tell me about it," she said quietly, looking around at the crowd. She saw a familiar flash of wild red hair in the distance and narrowed her eyes. "Hold on. I want to go say hi to someone. I'll be right back."

She limped over to where she saw Tikhuna sitting silently. The troll looked haggard and exhausted and was staring at the ground. It looked almost like she lost a family member. For all Belidora knew, maybe she had. She got in front of her and sat down, a little heavily as her legs refused to cooperate, and knocked up dust.

"Hello," she said quietly to the troll.

The troll ignored her for a moment, but slowly looked up. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she forced a weak smile. "It ju, da elf from da ship. I'm happy ya be doin' bettah."

"Thanks to you," she said quietly, then frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I be pretty fah from okay, little elf."

Belidora frowned. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid question," she muttered, rubbing her face.

There was some yelling behind Belidora, and she and Tikhuna turned to face it. One of the strange winged sin'dorei was talking to an orc loudly. Belidora had noticed the odd winged elves when the sun had started to come up, but they did not seem to raise the alarm for the guards so she paid them little heed. Now it looked like one of them was about to start a fight.

She frowned. "They shouldn't be fighting at the Warchief's funeral," she said quietly.

Tikhuna watched them for a moment, then grabbed the sin'dorei's arm and jerked her to her feet, ignoring her hiss of pain. "Somet'ing is wrong. Be ready."

Belidora pulled her arm away and looked at her questioningly, but then noticed the troll looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. She spun around just in time to see the axe swinging down at her, held by a massive doomguard. She barely managed to sidestep the swing, but her legs got tangled in Tikhuna's, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The elf rolled onto her stomach and pulled the polearm off of her back. When the raised its axe to swing at the two, she managed to thrust the spear up, impaling the larger creature on it. It collapsed to the ground.

"Good shot," Tikhuna whispered, pulling her to her feet again. The two looked around for a moment. The demons seemingly sprang from nowhere. Civilians were screaming and running for the gates while the guards tried to keep felhounds out. Belidora looked around frantically for her two friends, but they were nowhere in sight in the sudden chaos. _They're fine,_ she thought to herself. _They're far more likely to survive this than you are._

She hacked at an imp that got too close before it sent a fireball at them. She pressed her back against Tikhuna's.

"Can ya fight, girl?" the troll blurted out.

_No_ , she thought. "Yes. I think so."

Tikhuna grabbed her arm and started running toward the stage. The nightsaber that was her companion ran beside them, snapping at any felhounds that got too close. Every step sent pain shooting through the elf's side, but she managed to stay on her feet until they got just in front of the stage. Tikhuna let go of her arm and pulled out her bow, beginning to send arrows flying in the direction of the demons approaching the stage. She was very skilled, it seemed.

Belidora stuck two fingers into her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. That should get the attention of her wolf, which she had foolishly left behind. _Jof was right. That was a bad idea._ She looked around, trying to find it, when she felt a sharp pain in her head, sending her sprawling back into the wooden front of the stage. She instinctively held the spear up and caught the downward sword swing before it sliced her down the middle. It was a good thing that the spear was strong.

She rolled and let the sword slide to the ground, before trying to swing her own weapon and slice the demon through its belly. She missed, and the demon caught her off balance, opening a gash on her arm. She gritted her teeth and thrust again, this time finding her mark. She growled and pulled the spear free.

Finally, her wolf made it to her, snapping at a small imp that was prancing about. After a few tries, it managed to close its massive jaws around it and rip it in two.

"You two! Help get the civilians inside! Go! Now!" a voice at the edge of the stage yelled. Belidora did not bother to see who gave the order - whoever it was probably had the authority to do so.

She grabbed Tikhuna's arm. "Come on! You heard the order!"

The troll narrowed her eyes, not moving from the spot. She continued to shoot into the demons crowding around the stage. Belidora began to panic - she needed her help to run. "Come on! Please! We have to help people!"

After a few more moments of hesitation, the troll grabbed her wrist and began to run for the gates. They got to the front of the gate and turned to defend it. Most of the larger, more powerful demons paid the fleeing civilians little mind, but a few sent fel fire roaring after them and a few of the smaller ones gave chase.

Belidora hacked at a few imps that grabbed at her. She noticed absently that she was breathing heavily, much more than she should be. _I really must have lost a lot of blood_. She started backing toward the gate. She would not be able to keep it up for much longer. Luckily it looked as if the demons were thinning out.

She looked over at Tikhuna to yell at her to fall back a little when the ground shook, knocking them both off of their feet. When they looked back up a huge rock creature stood in front of them. _Infernal. Is that what it's called?_

Belidora gripped her polearm and tried to struggle to her feet, but the infernal was fast approaching. She looked down at its feet and noticed the fel flame engulfing it. That would make it difficult to attack even when she could stand. She gritted her teeth and prepared to do it anyway.

Fortunately, she did not have to. A bolt of lightning shot out from behind the two, striking the infernal and breaking it apart. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jof standing there, panting, with his hand held out. He was bleeding from his head and looked exhausted, but he smiled at them.

A guard walked over and pulled them both to their feet. "Get inside. We can handle the rest. Thank you."

Belidora grabbed onto her wolf and limped back into the gates. She rubbed her forehead and looked at her hand. Blood. No wonder she was so dizzy. She knew she was bleeding from her arm as well, but that was a minor wound.

"Jof. Where is...?" she started.

"He be inside, tendin' to da wounded. He be in about as good a shape as da rest of us."

She nodded and limped inside. When they got inside the city, she found a corner and collapsed in it, breathing heavily. Tikhuna collapsed next to her. A priestess that she didn't know rushed over and began to heal her and Tikhuna. Jof stood there and looked at the two of them, then at the rest of the crowd. It seemed that the demons had not succeeded in killing many of them, but they had obviously claimed some lives.

It took several minutes, but Phogrim made his way over to them. He was bleeding from his arm and another half dozen smaller cuts. He rarely was wounded in battle - the demons had caught him by surprise. Who would have expected such a thing at a funeral?

"Good. You made it," he said tiredly, sitting down in front of the elf. He had the same shocked look on his face that she must have had, and that most of the survivors seemed to share. The sin'dorei priestess turned her attention to him and began to heal him. He would have usually objected and told her he would do it himself, but he just thanked her dumbly instead.

"Phogrim," Belidora whispered after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Can we go to bed now?"

#

Belidora tossed and turned in her sleep. The floor was uncomfortable, even with the furs piled on it, but it was as good as it was going to get. The fact that they had tried to sleep in the middle of the hot Orgrimmar day had not helped either. Still, it was beginning to cool off as twilight settled on the region.

Phogrim had set up a healing totem to help the three of them with the pain of their injuries as they healed. She still woke up several times as the day bled on.

She was in the awkward half-asleep phase when she heard a strange noise in the distance. She put her non-injured arm over her ears and tried to block it out, screwing her eyes shut tight. It went off over and over again. It was incessant and annoying, and incessantly annoying.

She felt a sharp pain in her arm as someone gripped it. "Get up!" she heard Jof's voice yell in her ear.

"What the hell?" she growled, looking at him, half asleep.

"Dose be war horns! Get up!"

She rolled over onto her back and stared at him. It took several seconds for the fog in her mind to clear enough to understand what he was saying. They _were_ war horns. She reached up and caught his hand as he pulled her to her feet. She gripped her head and started using every swear word she had ever known in Thalassian, Common, Orcish, and any other language she could think of. She fumbled around in the dark and grabbed her polearm, then walked over to the door. At least the healing totem had worked enough that she could walk normally.

Phogrim was already standing just outside of the door. Groups of soldiers ran past, yelling at each other. Belidora and Jof watched them go by, then noticed that their friend was instead fixated on the sky. They looked up as well.

It was a sickly shade of fel green, with a swirling mass in the middle of it. Further in the distance, a large, black, floating _thing_ was suspended in the sky, sending beams of fel energy onto the ground beneath it. Some of those same things had been on the Broken Shore, mercilessly slaughtering the Horde soldiers on the ground, giving them no way to retaliate.

They were a long way from the rear gate of Orgrimmar, but the unmistakable cacophony of combat reached their ears even there. The ships were not the only threat. There were obviously also demons, and a great number of them at that.

The three stood there for a moment, looking at each other in the darkness. "Come on," Phogrim said finally, starting to make his way toward the chaos. "I'm not going to die hiding from these bastards."

Jof and Belidora exchanged a glance, but then the blood elf turned and beckoned her wolf to come. They made their way as quickly as they could to catch up.

"Girl," the troll said quietly. "If we die tonight, it be an honor ta know ya. I guess some of ju elves aren't so bad." He gritted his teeth. "Tonight, we fight for Vol'jin, da Warchief."

She forced a weak smile, gripping her polearm hard enough that her knuckles were white. "For the Horde?"

"For da Horde. Come on. We got some demons ta slay."

#

Author's Note: Obviously, many characters, places, and situations in this story are copyrighted to Blizzard Entertainment and used without profit being made.

Special thanks to Scott (Mork), Josh (Phogrim), Sam (Darthgrom), Sarah (Liralina), and Cheri (Tikhuna). They either gave me actual characters to use or at least names, and they're a cool group.


	2. Chapter 2:  Stormheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phogrim, Jof, and Belidora begin their adventure in the Broken Isles in Stormheim. They are part of the initial scouting party before the Warchief's arrival. The Warchief herself has an interest in the region, but there may be more dangers there than anyone realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Location, situations, and other obvious things are copyright Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission or profit. The partial song lyrics also belong to Blizzard, or I guess whoever writes the Elite Tauren Chieftain songs.
> 
> Enjoy.

The heavy rain fell on the cliffs of Stormheim almost constantly. It was aptly named, it seemed. It was difficult to understand why there were no landslides, much less any obvious flooding. It was probably due to the fact that much of the terrain was nothing but rocky outcroppings and trails. At least the new cloak and hood she bought kept her more or less dry, and more importantly hidden.

　

Belidora reclined against the evergreen tree, stretched out on one of the branches halfway up that she found could support her weight. She looked down at the ground as her unwanted visitors walked past.

　

Worgen.

There were three of them, all men. They were walking at a nonchalant pace and speaking to each other in Common, although with their thick accents it was difficult to understand them.

　

"Why did we have to choose this Light-forsaken hellhole to scout out?" one of them mumbled.

　

She smiled as she watched them. Jof had asked her the same exact thing - although in different words - before they had left camp that evening. Sure, it was somewhat her fault, having been the one that got to pick where they went first on the Broken Isles. In her defense, the pay for the scouting mission was much higher for this region than it had been for any of the others. After all, they deserved some good pay - they had received little gold for the endless Legion attacks that hammered Azshara and the Crossroads.

　

At least some of the inns had given them free food and beer.

　

There were whispers that the Warchief herself had an interest in something here, but it was a mystery what that could be. The only thing they had found in the week they had been there was trees, rocks, and deadly cliffs.

　

They slowed as they got underneath the tree, but did not look up. Belidora reached behind her head and grabbed her polearm, waiting. _Please just keep walking_ , she thought. They were walking away from the Horde camp and away from the paths that Jof and Phogrim had said they would be scouting, so there was no reason to engage them if they just did not see her and attack first. Thankfully she had left her wolf back at the camp, much to her friends' chagrin. There was just no way her wolf would be able to climb the cliff faces she needed to.

　

After a long moment of hesitation, the worgen continued on their way. She let go of her polearm and watched them disappear over the mountainside. She waited several more minutes to make sure they did not double back before swinging off of the branch, landing in a puddle below with a splash. She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter and walked toward the cliff perpendicular to where they had walked down. She had seen a small alcove that seemed to lead to an opening while she was sitting in the tree.

　

She looked up. It was only about ten feet above her head, but the rocks were slippery from the rain. She pulled the cloak down a bit to shield her eyes and jumped up, grabbing a rock that was jutting out. She put her feet against the cliff and wormed her way up. After a few more grips she managed to grab the edge of the alcove and pull herself up. All of those years of climbing up onto the rooftops of Murder Row as a child had paid off, it seemed.

　

The sin'dorei squeezed through and lay on her stomach, catching her breath for a moment. The rain oddly seemed to be lighter here, and looking up she saw that it was partially enclosed above her, almost like a partial cave. In the middle was a small lake with crystal clear water. Behind it was another opening that seemed to open to the trail going up the mountain. Well, that was convenient. She was supposed to meet up with her friends in an hour to go back to camp, and the apex was where they had decided to do it.

　

She pulled the hood off of her head and ran her hands through her hair. Seems that the hood did not work quite as well as she thought. She must have just been so soaked that she could not tell wet from dry anymore. She walked over to the water and looked at herself in it. She looked like a drowned mouse and her hair being pushed back showed the ugly scar that ran from her hairline to her left temple. When she had finally had time to dwell on it after all that had happened, its appearance had bothered her to no end. That is, until the two boys that had become her impromptu roommates had spent two hours comparing their own scars and coming up with ridiculous stories as to why they had them.

　

She was fairly sure most of the stories had been made up. Jof had not really gotten into a drunken fistfight with the former Warchief Hellscream - and won. It was an entertaining thought, though. She smiled at the story and pushed her hair back down a little to cover the scar without getting water in her eyes.

　

The lake looked clean enough, as clean as any she had ever drank from in Eversong Woods, and she dropped to her knees and reached down. She cupped her hands in the water and brought it to her lips. It was cold and delicious, especially after hiking up mountain trails for the previous two hours. She reached down and got more. She was a little excited - she had managed to find both a clean water source and a place where they could shelter from the storm when the main offensive got there in a few weeks or months. The Forsaken commander back at camp would be pleased with her for once.

　

Belidora let the rest of the water fall out of her hands and back into the lake. She watched the ripples in her own reflection until she noticed something odd. There was a murky red reflection just to the right of her that had not been there before. She reached behind her and grabbed the polearm as she spun around.

　

The felguard swung his empty hand, barely grazing her cheek with a vicious backhand. It was enough to send her stumbling backwards into the lake up to her knees. She winced and finished pulling the polearm off of her back, charging forward. She struck out with a downward swing, but the much larger creature easily blocked it with his sword, sending shockwaves through her arms. She backed away, back into the water to her ankles. He approached, grinning wildly.

　

_Something is wrong. They usually try to kill on sight. What the hell is it even doing here?_ she thought. It was the first sign of Legion presence they'd seen in all of Stormheim.

　

The huntress did not wait for the demon to close the gap, instead rushing forward herself. When she got close enough, she ducked under his arm and got behind him, swinging her polearm to slice through his ribs on the left side. She managed to draw blood before he caught the middle of the spear in one of his large hands, stopping her strike. She had expected this, and put all of her strength behind the other, smaller spear point, trying to drive it towards his belly and disembowel him.

　

The plan almost worked, but in her haste and concentration to kill her enemy, she forgot about the need for defense. He did not use his sword to slice her open - instead, he slammed the hilt of it against the side of her head. She lost her grip on the polearm and was sent face first into the lake. A few seconds later, she came up on her hands and knees, choking and gasping. She looked over at him just in time to see him toss the polearm out the alcove and onto the ground below.

　

Her orc friend's admonishment echoed in her mind.

　

Don't let them take you alive.

Belidora reached down and jerked her skinning knife out of the sheath on her belt. She stumbled to her feet and held it in front of her, trying to dissuade the demon from coming closer. He looked at it and laughed, a horrible sound that was obviously not of this world. After a few seconds, he leaned his sword on his shoulder and began to walk toward her. She gripped the knife tighter. There was no way she could kill that thing with such a small weapon. She had no training in how to do that. Still, all she had to do was plunge it into her own heart and it would be over in a few seconds. Failure to do so would lead to untold torture.

　

She gritted her teeth and took a few steps backwards, trying to keep from getting deeper into the lake and desperate to buy a few seconds to work up her courage. Her feet managed to find dry ground again and a sudden rush of adrenaline hit her as she continued to circle around. The other opening, the one that went to the trail up the mountain - she had forgotten about it. If she could just make it to that opening, the felguard may not even fit. She'd live.

　

Belidora kept hold of the knife and took off running. She splashed through the bank of the lake and did not look back when the felguard shouted and gave chase. She had learned during the attacks on the Crossroads that she was much quicker than they were. All she had to do was run through that opening.

　

She almost made it. Less than thirty feet from being safe, something wrapped around her ankle, snaring her and sending the ground rushing toward her, smacking her on the lip and bloodying it. She pushed herself to her feet and looked down as another snare wrapped around her other ankle. Fel energy snaked around her legs up to the tops of her boots like glowing green ropes.

　

It's now or never.

　

Belidora closed her eyes and took a breath, then tried to jam the knife into her chest. Her arm would not budge. She looked down again and saw the same fel energy wrapped around her wrists and pulled them toward the ground, keeping her arms pinned near her side. She instinctively tried to jerk the hand holding the knife free, but was only rewarded for her efforts by the binding becoming painfully tight, compelling her to let go of it completely. Her last chance at salvation landed at her feet with a soft squish in the mud.

　

She could heard the felguard approaching behind her. She stared at the opening. She had been so close. It would have only taken a short time to find Phogrim or Jof. They could not be far. Her eyes widened at the realization. Of course. Even if those two were, they were not too far from the Alliance encampment, and a scream would attract their attention as well if they were able to hear it. They would investigate for curiosity's sake if for nothing else, and they would surely slay a powerful demon so close to their own camp.

　

Far better to be at the mercy of the Alliance than the Legion.

Belidora opened her mouth to scream. Once again, she was too late. The felguard's large hand clamped down on her mouth before she could even get a sound out. She jerked again on the fel bindings, but they held fast, as she knew they probably would.

　

She forced herself to stop struggling and concentrate, her mind racing as she tried to remember what Saurfang had briefed them about felguards on the ship ride to the Broken Shore. There had been so much information to remember, and it had been what seemed like a lifetime ago. She had to remember. Maybe there was something she could use.

　

Carried swords or axes. Red. Didn't use shields. Will search out the weakest, she recited in her mind. Six to eight feet, sometimes bigger. Don't use magic.

The huntress's eyes snapped open at the last thing on her list. Confusion set in, quickly replaced with a feeling of horror.

　

The snare isn't his. There's someone else here.

Belidora heard the click of wood hitting stone and something being dragged behind her, which then repeated several times, getting closer. The felguard held her head too tightly for her to try and turn and look, so she shut her eyes and tried to listen. Finally, whoever it was spoke, "There's no need for that, demon. She'll be a good little girl with a sword to her throat. Let her talk."

　

The felguard took his hand away from her mouth and she took a gasp of air. She must have been holding her breath without realizing it. She felt sharp steel pressed to the right side of her neck and throat, dissuading her from pulling on the bindings again. She still could not turn her head.

　

Still, the voice, it was so familiar. She wracked her brain, trying to determine where she had heard it before. It did not have the echoing effect that the demons' voices usually had. His voice was rough and gravelly, and he had the accent of an orc, even though he spoke fluent Common. No, this was no demon.

　

Belidora closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. She had to get her terror under control before facing who she feared it would be. _No no no. There is no way it could be him. Not here. Not right now._

She felt a clawed hand pat her head, as if she were a small child. She could also feel the fel energy pulsing through it, almost as strongly as the crystals that dotted Silvermoon after the Sunwell had been destroyed. She instinctively pulled away and was rewarded with the sword being dragged across her neck, drawing a trickle of blood. It was shallow, like she had cut herself on a book page, but it was enough to make her freeze again.

　

She swallowed and forced herself to open her eyes. A pair of glowing red ones met her glowing green ones. She had sometimes wondered about that in the past - why fel had such different effects - but the only thing she could think of now was how much she wanted to get away from there.

　

The orc was the same green color as most of the others she had met, but that was where the similarity ended. He was hunched over to the point of being no taller than the petite sin'dorei, and bones twisted bizarrely out of his back and into the air above his head. Skulls from some sort of creatures were jabbed onto the top of them, as well as in a macabre necklace hanging down on his chest. He was as much a monstrosity as he was an orc.

　

"Tell me, child. What is your name? I would hate to be rude," the orc said gently. The gentleness somehow made it even worse. Belidora set her jaw and simply stared back at him, not wanting to give an answer.

　

He answered her defiance with a wave of his hand and the girl felt the felguard pull his blade away. She closed her eyes, expecting him to strike her head off, but instead felt a searing pain. It felt like her wrists and legs had been slapped into white hot manacles. Her knees buckled and she stifled a scream, but the felguard grabbed the back of her cloak, keeping her upright.

　

The spell ended as quickly as it began, but the damage was done. She did not need to look down at her burned flesh to feel that. She panted in pain and looked back up at him.

　

"Let's try this again," he said, just as cheerfully. "What is your-"

　

"Belidora," she said quickly, her voice hoarse. There was no reason to suffer more for that information.

　

"Ah, you . . .what is it, blood elves? You have such lovely names," he said, stepping away slightly. The felguard pressed the blade to her throat again. It was wholly unnecessary - she was not going to go anywhere - but the foul creature seemed to enjoy the fear it must cause. "And do you know who I am?"

　

"Gul'dan," she said quietly.

　

"Ah, I see my . . . accomplishments . . . precede me," he said. "I must say, I did not expect to find one of your kind here. I did not realize that this so-called Horde was even back to the Broken Isles yet after we slaughtered you. I suppose I will just have to wipe out your encampment as well, like I did with the humans' tonight." His voice was nonchalant, like he was discussing what to prepare for dinner.

　

He paused. "Tell me, how many of you are there here, wandering these cliffs?"

　

She stared at him. "I'm alone," she sputtered out uneasily

　

Gul'dan turned and looked at her. "Then who were you trying to yell for?"

　

Belidora looked away with her eyes, careful to keep her head still. She expected to feel the pain of another spell being cast, but it never came. Instead, the warlock limped over to her until he was just in front of her.

　

"I will make you an offer, mongrel," he said, the cheerfulness in his voice being replaced with a cold edge. "I will give you another chance. Call for your comrades."

　

The sin'dorei looked at him as the felguard moved his blade ever so slightly so she would be able to do as she was told. Now though - her thoughts turned back to when she had first seen the warlock, back on the Broken Shore. How he had captured that paladin, Fordring, and had him burnt alive as their forces arrived to rescue him. She had never spoken to the human, but she knew he had destroyed Frostmourne and defeated the Lich King in a single strike.

　

And she had seen the power of the Lich King first hand.

　

The two shamans, as skilled as they were, would never stand a chance.

　

"Do it," the orc growled, snapping her back to reality.

　

She looked at him and spoke with a slightly wavering voice. "No."

　

She saw his face darken, and forced her voice to get under control. "I am not afraid of you," she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper, but at least she sounded as calm as she could.

　

Gul'dan snarled at her, then his face twisted into a dark smile. "Admirable," he said, chuckling, but his voice had a mocking tone to it. He knew she was lying. "But it is not your fear I need for this."

　

The blade was taken away again, and she felt the fel bindings on her wrist snake further up her arms until they were halfway up her biceps. Then, without warning, the pain shot through her body once again, much more intense this time. She was unsure how long it lasted - it felt like hours, but it could have been minutes or even seconds.

　

When it was over, the huntress opened her eyes and absently noticed she was on her knees and breathing heavily. The fel retreated back to her wrists and she could see the strange serpentine designs it had burned into her armor and onto the skin underneath. There was something more as well. She felt so very weak, like she could not move even without the pain. She was sure she had screamed, but she was sure of little else. Her mind was in a deep haze.

　

She felt a jerk on the back of cloak as she was forced into a standing position again. She kept her head down and her eyes on the ground, having neither the strength not the desire to face the warlock again.

　

"Such a lovely scream. Very well done indeed," Gul'dan said, his voice still mocking. "With any luck that will coax your . . . friends out of hiding. If not, then I guess we will just have to try again."

　

Belidora hazily felt the shackles release from her arms and legs. She thought it odd, until the felguard half dragged her to the left several yards to the cave wall. He shoved her back into it and jerked her arms up above her head. The fel shackles reappeared, pinning her there. Then he just turned around and walked toward the entrance going up the mountainside. Obviously he had gotten bored of holding her. That or he needed his hands free for something else.

　

_Of course. The entrance is a perfect chokepoint,_ she thought darkly. And now she had no way of seeing their approach to get out a warning.

　

She raised her head enough to blurredly see the warlock. Her arms were supporting her weight and the burnt flesh being pulled was enough to make her feel nauseous. She swallowed and decided to test her voice. "Th-they'll kill you," she said, as loud as she could, but it was nothing more than a whisper. It sounded so weak, and the threat was obviously hollow. The warlock merely chuckled at her.

　

Phogrim was the first to arrive. By that time Gul'dan and the felguard had ducked back into the shadows. The orc stepped as quietly as he could and gripped the black war mace in his hand. He spun around slowly until he was facing Belidora. She could only roughly see him in the darkness, but the way he approached showed he did not completely recognize her.

　

"Phogrim," she coughed.

　

She could see his brown eyes widen and he rushed forward, seemingly forgetting any sort of battle tactics. "By the ancestors," he whispered when he got close enough to see her well. "What happened? Who did this to you? _What_ did they do to you?"

　

"Run. Please. It's a trap."

　

He was reaching up, trying to figure out how the bindings worked. He acted as if he did not hear her, but she knew perfectly well he had. He touched the one wrapped around her right wrist and quickly jerked his hand back as if he were bitten by a snake. He growled and looked around, obviously trying to think.

　

"Ah yes, run," a voice behind the shaman said, this time speaking in Orcish. Phogrim spun around and froze when he saw the warlock behind him. Although he was much larger than Gul'dan, he still took a step back. He seemed to be just as surprised as Belidora had been. "Run and leave your comrade to die a torturous death. That is what your Horde is known for, is it not?"

　

Belidora heard a snarl escape her friend's throat. He stepped forward, his fear evidently being replaced by anger. _Brave idiot._ "Please," she repeated to her friend. "Please go."

　

"You will pay in blood for this. For everything," he snarled, still facing the warlock.

　

"I somehow . . . doubt that," Gul'dan said nonchalantly.

　

Phogrim rushed forward, readying his hammer to strike.

　

He got quite close. Only a few more seconds and he would have likely hit his target, since the powerful warlock did not attempt to move. He did not have to, for just before the orc reached him the felguard struck out from the shadows, opening a bloom of blood from the shaman's throat. Phogrim dropped the heavy mace with a thud and collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound, obviously desperately trying to heal it. A second later, the tip of the fel sword emerged through his back before being pulled free.

　

Belidora watched it all in silent horror. She wanted to scream or to cry or to threaten the warlock, but no sound would come out of her dry throat.

　

"Fool," Gul'dan said, nudging the corpse with his staff. "Worthless excuse for an orc, dying for that miserable little whelp."

　

The felguard dipped the sword in the lake to wash the blood off of it. The monster looked up at the entrance as he obviously heard a sound, then lightning enveloped him, helped along by the connection to the metal and water. It screamed before collapsing in a husk.

　

"Ju son of a bitch," Belidora heard Jof's voice echo coldly off the walls of the cave. "I'm gonna kill ju. Ju be da reason dat Vol'jin is dead, dat Phogrim is dead. It be all your fault. Ju ain't nevah gonna leave dis cave alive."

　

The sin'dorei listened to him for a moment, but she knew that his threats would never come true. She kept staring at her friend's body. She had lost so many people already. Her parents were both dead, as well as her sweet baby brother. That death had been her fault as well, just like Phogrim's. What was the point of surviving if she had nothing and no one to go back to?

　

"Jof! Go!" she said as loudly as she could when she could barely see him across the cave. Her voice was still pathetic, but she used all the strength she had to make it less so. "Please!"

　

He looked over at her, obviously surprised _. He must not have realized I was here._ The troll then turned his attention back to the warlock and gathered more electricity between his hands. He sent it towards the orc, who did nothing more than bring up a wall of fel flame, completely blocking the attack. Jof hissed something, likely a swear in his own tongue, and tried again with the same effect. He backed up slightly, trying a fireball next. None of his attacks reached their intended target.

　

She could barely see his face, but she could tell when the realization dawned on the troll that he could not win. Still, he did not run. She tried to plead with him again. "Please. If you stay, we'll all die. You have to get help. There's no honor in dying here if it gets everyone else killed," she coughed.

　

Jof looked at the warlock, then back at the prisoner. He clenched his fists and glanced over at the opening to get out of the cave.

　

Gul'dan certainly could not have that. "If you run, troll, I will make her death more painful than you can fathom," he said, starting to limp closer to the shaman.

　

The troll looked back and forth again, obviously struggling with what to do. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, looking at the sin'dorei. "I be sorry, girl," he said quietly, his eyes filled with pain.

　

He turned and ran, turning into a ghostly wolf an instant later. He was quick, but not as fast as the fel fireball that followed him. It struck him in the back, instantly sending him tumbling and slamming into cave wall. The wolf form faded, showing the charred form of the troll. He had died without even a whimper.

　

"Well, that was quite enjoyable. It has been so long since I have gotten to spill blood myself," Gul'dan said, his voice once again cheerful. Belidora did not respond to him, simply staring at the floor, not moving. She did not even notice how close he was until he pulled her head up by her hair. "Now, as for you..."

　

Rage boiled up inside of her and she spat in his face, the saliva mixed with blood from her busted lip. "Bastard," she said angrily but weakly. "Monster." Gul'dan simply wiped the spittle from his face and smiled darkly, the commentary evidently amusing him. The smile disappeared with her next insult. "Slave."

　

He glowered at her, then the smile appeared yet again. "My masters tell me that your kind has access to something very . . . Interesting," he said, lifting her chin up with a black claw. "Tell me, child, what is this Sunwell?"

　

She clenched her jaw and pressed herself more tightly to the rock wall. He conjured a small ball of fel energy and held it in front of her face. "Now, I asked you a question..."

　

Belidora looked down and realized that her legs were not restrained. She kicked at him as hard as she could, but he simply stepped back and she missed, causing her to lose her balance and jerking on her burnt arms painfully as they supported all of her weight for an instant. The warlock growled and allowed the energy to dissipate, instead striking her across the face with his fist.

　

It did not hurt nearly as much as it should. Maybe she was dying already? She clenched her eyes tightly.

　

A strange voice, seemingly from very far away, rattled in her head.

　

"If ju kick me one more time, elf, I swear by da loa..."

She opened her eyes slowly to find the entire world blurry. Instead of seeing the hated face of the orc, she saw the tan leather ceiling of a tent and a purple painted troll face glaring down at her.

　

"J-Jof?" she whispered.

　

"Ju kicked me in da head," he snapped. "What be wrong wit' ju?"

　

Belidora sat up, trembling. She stared at the troll for a long time, then reached out and tapped one of his tusks hesitantly. He looked at her strangely and frowned at the vacant stare on her face. "You be okay?" he asked finally.

　

She collapsed on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing loudly. He stiffened at being grabbed suddenly, but he hesitantly hugged her back and patted her head.

　

"You two aren't fighting again, I hope? Hate to have you sleep out in the rain," Phogrim muttered from the other side of the tent, still half asleep.

　

"We be okay, I t'ink," Jof said. He slowly pried the girl's arms off of his neck and watched her frantically roll up her sleeves, staring at her wrists. They looked perfectly fine. She looked more confused than relieved. "Hey, calm down. It be nothin' but a dream."

　

She did not look at him, instead seemingly staring off into space and trying to catch her breath. He frowned again. "It not real, girl. Whatever ju saw, it din't happen. It be okay."

　

The sin'dorei finally managed to speak. "It wasn't a dream," she whispered, with the same vacant look on her face. "I could smell it. I _felt_ it. Dreams don't do that."

　

The troll's frown deepened and he patted her gently on the shoulder. He sighed. "I have . . . Some'ting to tell ju."

#

"I can't believe you would do something this stupid," Phogrim growled, watching the huntress stare at the stream she was seated by, her knees pulled up to her chest. It was a rare dry day in Stormheim, but the clouds still covered the sky, blocking out the sun.

　

"It was s'posed ta be a joke," Jof protested. "S'posed ta be funny! She a funny girl. It nevah did dat to me. It was always funny t'ings."

　

"You gave her one of those damned . . . 'voodoo' berries without telling her what it was. You can't do that, you idiot," the orc snapped, making sure that no one else was listening in on their conversation. "For all you know, it could be poisonous to the elves. Or she could have wandered off while she was seeing things."

　

"Dat's not what they be called and ju know it. And I was watchin' her. She never go anywhere," the troll scoffed, crossing his arms. "Besides, ju ate one dat one time."

　

"I don't _care_ what they're called. And yes, I did. And I knew what it was supposed to do and knew it was not real," he said, getting close to the troll's face. "How did your _joke_ turn out? She hasn't spoken in four hours, and the last thing she talked about was us being murdered and her being tortured, and she thought _all of that was real._ I think she halfway still does!"

　

Jof frowned and looked over at the elf. If she was listening to their conversation, she gave no indication of it. She just continued to stare into the stream. He sighed. "I din't t'ink it would do something ta scare her. It usually be pleasant t'ings."

　

"Well, it did," the orc muttered. "We have patrol in an hour and a half, and we're not going to be able to tell the commander that we can't go because our friend had a bad dream. Go talk to her. You need to fix this and get her ready to go. If she's not, I will personally beat the hell out of you."

　

Jof sighed and walked over to Belidora, sitting down next to her. She did not acknowledge his presence. Her skin was pale and she looked drained.

　

"Hey," the troll said gently. "Ju were just seein' t'ings. None of it be real. We probably never be seein' dat warlock again. He be killed before we have ta deal wit' him."

　

It took her an entire minute to reply. "I could _feel_ it, though. All of it," she whispered, looking down at her wrists and pulling the chainmail back for the dozenth time.

　

Jof frowned, guilt gripping him. "Dat be da berry too. It makes ya feel da t'ings ju see. I never meant ta hurt ya, Beli," he said. "I be sorry, girl."

　

She shook her head rapidly. "Please don't say that," she whispered. "Please don't say that ever."

　

"I just be apologizin'," he started, but decided to not pursue it further.

　

Belidora looked over at him, finally taking her eyes off of the running water. "Those berries. They're that 'voodoo' that you trolls use. Does that mean it's going to happen?"

　

He shook his head. "No, no, girl," he said. "Dey not dat kind of voodoo, not for an elf. Like I say, just a bad dream. It nevah gonna happen." He put his arm on her shoulders gently. "From what ju said, though, ju were very brave. Even if it be just a dream."

　

She turned her attention back to the water, resting her chin on her knees. "I wasn't. I was terrified."

　

"I woulda been too. Dat don't mean ju weren't brave. Dat jus' mean ju not insane," he said, getting up slowly. "If ju want, I will tell da commander dat you're sick. Phogrim and I can handle dis night."

　

"No," she blurted out, grabbing onto his hand before he could walk away. "No, please no."

　

He looked down at her strangely and sighed. "Dat be fine too. Ju can come. I don't t'ink we be splittin' up tonight, okay?" He held onto her hand and pulled her to her feet slowly.

　

"I . . . I like that idea," she said quietly.

#

_"This is where the last patrol made it to," the tall Forsaken said in his raspy voice, pointing on the crudely drawn map that they had been labeling as they made it further into Stormheim. "Didn't find much except some good hunting. Might want to check it out in the daylight, elf. We'll be needing provisions as the campaign goes on."_

_Belidora, Phogrim, and Jof were crowded around the table in the commander's chambers, which instead of being a tent like theirs was at least a small wooden building. The commander was strict, but he had mostly ignored the three during their time there. Really, he generally ignored anyone not of his own kind as long as they did not cause problems._

_"You are to follow these two trails up the mountain to the west of here. Go no further west than the apex unless necessary. Stay away from the Alliance camp," he said firmly, tapping the spot marked on the map. It was just to the south of the one of the trails. "They know of our presence, and they are here in greater numbers than we are, at least for the time being. They have ignored us so far. Do not invite trouble." He rolled up the map. "Now go, while there is still some light. Try not to get killed."_

　

"You know, you should have brought that new cloak of yours," Phogrim said to Belidora as the rain dripped down her hair and face. "You would have been a lot more comfortable."

　

"I'm fine," she muttered, walking in between the other two. Her wolf trotted along behind her. At least the animal did not seem to be bothered by the rain, but then she was from a snowy tundra, so rain was probably not so bad. The huntress gripped the string of the bow slung over her shoulder and rubbed it in between her fingers. She had decided to leave her polearm at the camp as well.

　

She had heard that gladiators often tried to keep everything the same for good fortune. Maybe if she changed as much as she could it would work the same way?

　

The orc frowned at her and sighed. "Don't get sick then."

　

Jof had been mostly quiet since their mission started, although he went out of his way to try and cheer her up back at the camp. He had even gone to the trouble of helping her fletch some arrows for her bow since she had not brought enough. He at least seemed to feel bad for what he had done, but something about his insistence about it being just a bizarre hallucination seemed a bit off to Belidora. He had an odd tone to his voice, but it may have just been regret.

　

They trudged up the mountainside, careful to step on rock whenever possible to hide their tracks. The Alliance may have ignored them so far, but the peace had been strained almost to the breaking point since the Broken Shore. It would not be entirely out of character for the commander there to decide to try and ambush and snatch a small Horde patrol to use as bargaining chips if the conflict suddenly turned hot. There was a good chance that unless they were completely outnumbered they could get away, but it was always best not to risk injury. Not that the Alliance's plans would work - the last Warchief may have attempted to parlay with the other faction, but the Dark Lady would almost certainly not, and neither would her lieutenants.

　

"Dis be ridiculous," Jof finally said as they got to flatter ground. The rain was pouring down even harder now, and it was a cold rain. He crossed his arms against his bare chest and shuddered. "We not be findin' nothin' out here. Can't we jus' say we got to da top of da mountain?"

　

"We haven't even been out long enough," Phogrim muttered. "We'll get in trouble. Remember what the commander said, 'if you don't work, you don't eat.'" The other two parroted it as he said it. They had heard it at least a dozen times.

　

"Can't you guys do something about this? Talk to the elements?" Belidora muttered, looking down at the ground to find her footing.

　

"Ju don't t'ink we be tryin'?" Jof said, a bit snippy. Phogrim punched him in the shoulder and gave him a warning look. When the troll spoke again, he kept his tone more in check. "Dey not be listenin', girl. Dey're be somethin' wrong wit' dis whole island."

　

The three jumped as lightning struck a tree a few hundred yards ahead of them. "We need to find shelter," Phogrim said quickly. "Come on."

　

They stomped along for several more minutes, hugging the edge of the cliff, until they found a small indention and crowded into it. They were still getting soaked, but it was a little less so now, and hopefully it would keep lightning strikes at bay if they have some sort of roof over their heads.

　

"I don't think this storm is going to let up anytime soon," Phogrim sighed. "We need to find something a bit more sturdy than this."

　

"Dere be a cave 'bout a dozen yards back. Up on da mountainside," Jof said, shivering. Belidora frowned at him, but he did not seem to notice it.

　

The orc sighed and looked back into the storm. "Let's try it, then."

　

They made their way back into the downpour, hugging the mountainside. Sure enough, there was a small hole in the mountainside, not far from a sturdy evergreen.

　

"Okay, girl, I be boostin' you up dere. You help me up, den we help fat ass here up," Jof said, turning around to see her backing away from him. Phogrim turned around and stared at her as well.

　

"I don't want to go in there," she said quietly, staring at the opening.

　

Phogrim frowned, shooting a dark look at Jof, but said, "It's fine, Beli. It's not the cave from your dream. That cave isn't even real. Come on, it's cold out here."

　

"No. Let's just stay in the alcove. It's fine. It works," she said quickly, taking another few steps back. "My wolf can't get up there, anyway."

　

"Your wolf can find shelter better than we can. You're being ridiculous. Come on," he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly enough to keep her from backing away again.

　

"Maybe we better be findin' 'nother shelter," Jof said quietly from behind the orc.

　

Phogrim turned his head and stared at him. "Don't be encouraging her..." he began, then stopped. The troll was staring at the cave with an uneasy look on his face. The orc sighed. "You're both crazy. Fine. Come on."

　

It took another quarter of an hour, but they eventually found a small cave further up the mountain to huddle inside. Phogrim had growled at the two about why was this cave acceptable when the other was not, but they had just looked at him tiredly. They had lit a small fire inside since it was open enough to let the smoke out and the three soldiers and the wolf crowded around it.

　

"We're not going to make it to the top of the mountain tonight," Phogrim muttered. "The commander will just have to get over it, I guess. It's not safe for travel."

　

Jof looked over at him then back at the flames. The third part of their trio was curled up in the fetal position, fast asleep. The troll had mentioned waking her up - it really was unacceptable to sleep on a mission - but Phogrim had growled at him about why it was that she had not slept the night before. He decided to drop it.

　

"Da commander don't seem ta get over much of anyt'ing," the troll muttered.

　

"I wouldn't want to disappoint the Warchief either if I lived in the same city," Phogrim laughed. "He's not that bad. At least we don't have to deal with her _champion."_

　

Jof snickered, then laughed, flopping down onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "Dat mon is such an . . . I don't know what ju would call dat."

　

The orc leaned back against the cave wall. "He has it bad for her, and he's such a jerk."

　

"Dat be nicer than da term I was thinkin' of."

　

Phogrim looked over at him. "What do you think of the new Warchief?"

　

Jof frowned and looked back up at the ceiling. "I be missin' Vol'jin. But . . . maybe she be okay. I hope dat she will be."

　

The orc sighed. "We've been through, what? Four in the last five years? Something like that," he said, staring up at the ceiling as well. "At least Go'el is still alive, even if he won't come back. Garrosh was a monster." He frowned. "Vol'jin was a good Warchief, but he didn't live long enough to get a lot done."

　

Jof looked over. "He did get one t'ing done. We be havin' peace with da Alliance his whole rule, for da most part."

　

Phogrim smiled weakly, then sighed, closing his eyes. "I don't see that happening again for a very long time..."

　

#

It took two more hours, but eventually the downpour became a light sprinkle. More importantly, the lightning had also passed. It was the middle of the night now. If they did not get back to camp soon, the others would probably send out a search party and then they really would be in trouble with the gruff commander.

　

Belidora chewed on her jerky and yawned, following behind the other two with half closed eyes. They had eaten while she was still napping, and probably ate the good food, but she did not mind. They would be back at camp soon and she could have a proper meal. She scratched her wolf between its ears as she walked and tore a piece off, feeding it to her. She had to jerk her hand back to keep it from biting one of her fingers off. _Need to work on that._

　

"Well, we've managed to find a nice cave," Phogrim said. "That's better than nothing. Hopefully it's not the same one as everyone else has found."

　

The sin'dorei nodded quietly and looked to her right. There was something glowing in the distance, off by the Alliance camp. They were on a ridge just above it. It was barely a half mile away. The huntress remembered what the specter of Gul'dan had said, about destroying the camp. She frowned and walked closer.

　

It took the other two a moment to realize she was not following them. Jof saw it first and hissed, "Girl. We be s'posed ta leave dem alone."

　

"I'm just going to look," she whispered, dropping down to her belly and crawling to the edge.

　

She peeked over. The Alliance camp seemed, well, to be absolutely fine. The glow was nothing but their campfires. They made no attempt to hide their position like the Horde did, which meant they probably knew they outnumbered them in Stormheim two to one.

　

Belidora jumped as she felt something touch her shoulder. She looked back to see Phogrim lying on his stomach beside her. "See? Everything is fine. Let's get out of here."

　

"You're not going anywhere," a voice behind them said. It sounded like a child. The two spun around to see the barrel of a gun pointed at their faces - a very small gun. It was held by a female gnome, her pink hair pulled up in pigtails. She scowled at the two. "Don't move. What are you doing at our camp, Horde?"

　

The two did not answer, instead starting to reach for their weapons. The smaller soldier shoved the barrel closer to their faces, putting her finger on the trigger. "I said don't move." They slowly let go of the weapons and put their hands up.

　

"I'm not going to be taken hostage by a damned gnome," Phogrim growled at Belidora in Orcish. She glanced over at him and sighed.

　

The sin'dorei looked at the Alliance soldier a bit warily. Despite their size, there was no reason to believe that gnomes were any less deadly than the other races of the Alliance. Still, although the sentry had all of the power in the situation, she seemed very nervous. As she thought about it for a moment, she had never seen a gnome marksman before. The Alliance seemingly just began to use them. Perhaps the girl was a novice.

　

"Leave your weapons. Get up and start walking," the gnome finally said, motioning with her tiny rifle. Belidora pulled the bow off of her shoulder and dropped it to the ground, getting up into a standing position. Phogrim dropped his hammer with a loud thud and growled, but did the same.

　

_Where the hell is Jof?_

　

The gnome pointed down the trail toward the Alliance camp and they slowly started walking. She felt the sentry press the barrel of the gun against her spine. She was likely too afraid of the orc to get too close. That or she could not reach higher than his legs. Luckily, they could not walk very fast, which gave them time to think.

　

A thought crossed Belidora's mind of a very painful lesson had been taught when she had learned how to shoot many years ago. She smiled slightly. It was worth a try.

　

"What's your name?" she asked the gnome, keeping her voice pleasant and non-threatening. She glanced over her shoulder at the gnome, who responded by poking the barrel of the gun harder into her back. "Oh come on. This is more fun for you than it is for me. I just asked a question."

　

"My name is Kathkin. Kathkin Seelafizzle. Now no more talking, prisoner."

　

The sin'dorei ignored the order. "A word of advice, Kathkin, from one huntress to another," Belidora continued, her tone still pleasant. "You see, I've been doing this a very long time. If you pull the trigger holding the rifle like that, you're going to break your shoulder with the recoil."

　

She watched her carefully, and the gnome for an instant took her eyes off of the prisoner to glance down at the butt of the rifle, starting to move it into position. _Yup. Did the same thing. Light, I was a dumb kid._

Belidora reached behind her and grabbed the middle of the barrel, pushing it down and to the side in one movement. Since Kathkin was looking down at it, the butt of the rifle popped up, smacking her in the nose. She fell down, clutching her face with a howl. The elf managed to jerk the rifle out of her hands.

　

"Don't feel bad. I fell for that too once," she said, still holding the rifle by its barrel, pointed at the ground. Phogrim had turned around by this time and a malicious grin appeared on his face. He held his hand up, forming a fireball in it. The gnome's eyes widened.

　

"Now go," the orc said in Common. "And tell them what awaits them if they try to capture Horde soldiers."

　

The little gnome got up and sprinted toward the camp as fast as her little legs could carry her. She was cursing and yelling threats back at them the entire way, but with her high pitched voice and now being unarmed, they were more funny than frightening.

　

Phogrim snickered and turned to Belidora. "I'm impressed, kid," he laughed. "You got us out of a bad situation for once."

　

"I try," she said. "Let's go find our should-have-been savior."

　

They found the troll following them at a distance after a few minutes.

　

"Where the hell were you?" Phogrim snapped.

　

"She 'ad a gun ta ya heads. What did ya expect me to do, rush in dere? She shoot you if I be doin' that."

　

"You could have, you know, warned us she was behind us," the orc growled.

　

Belidora looked back down towards the Alliance camp. "We should probably get out of her before they send reinforcements."

　

"We got 'bout an hour, I t'ink."

　

"An hour? It's a quarter mile away."

　

"Did ja see dose little legs, though? Least an hour for her ta get dere."

　

The orc stopped scowling and snickered again. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

　

The three hurriedly made it back to the mountaintop so they could pick up their dropped weapons. The wolf joined them at the top. Belidora started to ask Jof where it had gone, but decided to wait. She had some more training to do, obviously. They then slid down part of the ridge and raced through a creek to cover their tracks If the Alliance pursued them in the dark, it would be treacherous unless they had found the same shortcuts. After about ten minutes of racing through the forest they slowed, confident that they had enough of a head start that any pursuers would not catch up.

　

"Nice little trick you did back there," Phogrim said, looking down at the elf. "How'd you come up with it?"

　

"Oh, that happened to me once when I was about ten years old. I paid one of the Rangers to teach me how to use a bow. I was practicing with these arrows with soft tips on them and he did the same thing to me to teach me not to get so close to what I was hunting. Gave me a nice black eye with the back of his hand," she said nonchalantly, examining the small rifle she captured. "He was a pretty good teacher. Think he's dead now."

　

"You were taught by a Ranger?" the orc asked. "I thought you grew up poor. How did you afford that?"

　

"I did grow up poor," she said, sticking the rifle into her belt. "It's just that drunk magisters don't always keep an eye on their coin purses, even in Murder Row. One little slit in the bottom of the purse and I could make enough for three lessons." She laughed. "It's a wonder none of the guardians ever caught me, much less the magisters themselves."

　

"I don't even know what to say about that," Phogrim said. He sounded like he was trying to act disappointed, but he ended up snickering again. "You were ten?"

　

"I was a terrible child."

　

"Ya be a thief, girl," the troll said, slapping her on the shoulder a bit too hard. "At least da story be interestin'. I be tellin' everyone dat ju two got caught by a gnome, by da way." He saw the other two glare at him and laughed.

#

Captain Mikal Blackwater drummed the pen on the map-covered desk tiredly. He was a man of forty, having served in the Stormwind Army since his eighteenth birthday, and was in charge of yet another expedition to yet another Light-forsaken, probably soon-to-be war zone. He was in his bed clothes, up in the middle of the night, half asleep and sick with a flu, listening to the gnome sentry tell her story. He was not a happy man.

　

The officer looked up at the girl, who was seated across from him, holding a handkerchief to her bloody nose. She had been speaking non-stop for almost half an hour. "And then the orc made this fireball and..."

　

"Did he fire it at you?" the human asked tiredly, rubbing his forehead.

　

Kathkin stopped for a moment. "Well, no, sir, but he did say..."

　

"So, what you're basically telling me is you found two Horde scouts outside of our camp and you decided to take them prisoner. This was after I told you to leave the Horde be. Then the little one, not even the orc, disarmed you," he said, resting his face on his hands and coughing.

　

"Well, she wasn't all that little. She was a lot bigger than me," the gnome said defensively. "And they were spying on us."

　

"You said they were a half mile from camp. Probably got lost in the storm or did it on a dare. They decided not to kill you, so I suppose that's a good thing." _Seems like I'm not the only one with disobedient troops._

"They were a half mile away, but they were watching the camp and hiding."

　

A grunt came from the corner and Blackwater looked over at the worgen standing there. Hrolf Driscoll was listening with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. "Could be counting, sir. Measuring our strength," he said. "We should cut them off before they report back. Teach the Horde a lesson for their arrogance."

　

Blackwater twirled the pen in his hand again for a few seconds before speaking. "They know they're being pursued, or at least suspect they are. They'll put up a fight. I will not lose any men chasing after them," he muttered. "Like I said, probably harmless, and if they were counting, then good. They will know our strength and will hopefully have the sense to not challenge us."

　

The worgen sneered. "If we could take one or both of them alive, they could serve as leverage in the future, as well as a good source of intelligence."

　

The Captain looked at his subordinate seriously. "I will not give the Horde an excuse to take our own scouts hostage because we did it first. Besides, they are unlikely to share any information with us."

　

"We can make them talk eventually."

　

"I will not have prisoners tortured within this base while I am in command," Blackwater warned, his voice getting louder. He watched as the worgen rolled his eyes and looked away. Normally he would punish such insubordination, but he was still half asleep. He sighed and looked back at the gnome. "These two . . . Spies you found - what were they discussing when you saw them? Anything?"

　

"The orc said to that elf girl, 'See, everything is fine' or something like that. Then they were gonna leave," Kathkin said. Her nose seemed to have finally stopped bleeding.

　

Mikal slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes and stared at her, as if he was trying to comprehend what she said. "Well, that is an odd thing to say, I suppose. I wonder what they were speaking of?"

　

"Maybe they're worried about us, sir," Hrolf said in a mocking tone, still looking away from the commander. Mikal rubbed his face. The worgen were more eager for a conflict than most of his other troops, but he had his orders. They were to only watch the Horde and only intervene if they caused trouble.

　

He sighed and picked up the pen. "Okay, both of you, get out," he said tiredly. "I am done discussing this. Seelafizzle, you are not to engage any Horde soldiers unless you absolutely have to, and if you do, I suggest you try to get backup first. You are lucky that they did not intend to kill you. And Driscoll, just..." he paused, shaking his head. "Just go to bed. My head is throbbing and I don't wish to discuss anything further with you."

　

Kathkin slid off of the chair and tossed the handkerchief into a nearby wastebasket. Hrolf pushed himself off of the wall and started toward the door. Before either quite made it, a human scout, a boy of about nineteen, rushed in, pushing past both of them. He was breathing hard and sweat and rain dripped off of his clothes and face. He saluted quickly, but Mikal simply waved the salute away, not wanting to stand up to return it.

　

"Sir! We have news about the Horde."

　

"Oh Light. Don't tell me - you ran across one of their patrols? A male orc and female blood elf, perhaps?" he muttered, burying his face in his hands again. All he wanted was to drink some warm brandy and crawl back into bed.

　

"No sir. It's something - it's something completely different," the young scout said. Something in the tone of his voice made Mikal look up, and saw that he was as white as the snow on the Alterac slopes.

　

He frowned at the boy. "Have a seat," he said quietly. When he did, the officer swallowed slowly and muttered.

　

"Tell me."

#

They trekked through the darkness for over an hour after leaving the Alliance base, but at least the rain had finally ceased. Now it was pleasantly cool, and the stars were slowly coming out. Stormheim was far enough from the Tomb of Sargares that the fel storm did not completely overtake the night sky. The three continued to hurry, but the closer they got to their temporary home the more relaxed they became.

　

It was a slow journey, no matter how much they tried to rush. They could not afford someone getting a broken leg or worse from slipping off of the narrow path that led to their camp. Still, the relief of escaping the Alliance and the storm had left them feeling a bit giddy. Even the young sin'dorei was starting to relax as they got nearer to camp. She had spent a few minutes of their journey whispering back to her wolf in Thalassian all of the things they were going to eat when they made it there.

　

Soon, they began to entertain themselves by singing a song they had heard over and over at the Darkmoon Faire, back during one of the few times that Azeroth was not falling apart. The song was only supposed to be a few minutes long, but the way they stopped every second line to argue about the words lengthened it significantly.

　

"No, it's 'the wolf among the hounds,'" Phogrim said to the troll during one of these many arguments. "Raptor doesn't even make sense."

　

"I like it bettah."

　

"You can't just change the words because you like it better. The Horde uses wolves."

　

"No, da orcs use wolves. Ju be just one part of da Horde. Dey even let mons like da girl be in da Horde, and dey use some sort of stupid lookin' birds."

　

"Hawkstriders - and thanks a lot," Belidora laughed. She was behind the other two, trying to make sure her wolf stayed on the path. She had to look over her shoulder every once in awhile to make sure she had not gotten stuck on a rock. The troll just grinned at her mischeviously and kept walking.

　

"Whatever. Let's just keep going," Phogrim said. The three began to sing again, off key and horribly.

　

_"The thunder turns to silence_

_It took the hundred to bring me down..."_

The elf had turned away momentarily to coax her wolf, who had simply stopped walking. All she could see were her golden eyes. The sin'dorei suddenly bumped into the troll in front of her and slipped for a moment. "Don't just stop walking in front of me!" she growled, but noticed that they both had frozen still and were looking down the hill. She glanced down the hill as well and dropped the skin of water she had been holding with a thud.

　

The Horde camp, or what was left of it, burned in bright green flames.

　

The three stood there for what seemed like an hour, but was less than a minute, before recklessly running down the hill. It was only by some miracle that none of them fell off the ledge. Within a couple minutes, they were there, standing before the ruins of the only safe refuge in Stormheim.

　

"Dis be horrible," Jof said quietly as they walked past the charred bodies of the two Tauren guards at the entrance. They were still seated, their weapons at their side. They had never gotten the chance to fight back and likely not to sound an alarm.

　

Phogrim swallowed and looked at the other two. "Search for survivors," he said quietly. The two stared at him for a moment, but saw his face darken at them and decided to comply, as much of a fool's errand as it was. Maybe there was a chance for a miracle.

　

Belidora sent her wolf - who had finally decided to follow them - to search for survivors, then went to the opposite side of the camp. The fact that they slept mostly in tents meant there was not a great deal of rubble to dig through, and what buildings they did have the two shamans went through with the help of the wind.

　

She went from one tent to the next, pulling away what material she could. The fel flames were beginning to die down, and they seemed to have taken over the leather tents in an explosion of power, anyway. After the third tent, she stopped trying to futilely rouse those she found inside, instead simply touching them and counting bodies. In each tent, the weapons were found piled up in the corner and the dead were lying down in rows. They never knew what happened.

　

It looks just like Silvermoon on that horrible day.

The sin'dorei finally came upon the tent that she and her friends were assigned to. She sighed and walked into the husk of it, looking at the corpses. Tauren, Forsaken, Goblin, all completely burnt. She knew the races only due to the size and shapes. She looked down at the little goblin, whom she knew as Sparky, lying where she should have been, and swallowed painfully. The sulfur was beginning to burn her throat and eyes. That's at least what she was going with.

　

_She would have loved examining this rifle_ , she thought absently.

　

Belidora slowly reached down and picked up her polearm, now covered in soot and ash, and sighed. That was the last tent. She started walking toward the others, who wore exhausted, devastated looks on their faces. The three stood in the middle of the camp for a long time, just looking at one another. The cold rain had picked up again, but none of the three seemed to notice.

　

"The Legion butchered them in their beds," Phogrim finally said, spitting in the dirt. "Cowards."

　

"What should we do?" the sin'dorei asked quietly. "The ship coming with supplies isn't going to be here for another ten days, and the bats are all dead. There's no way off this island." She looked over and saw her wolf pawing at something in the dirt and ash. When she did not get an immediate answer from the orc, she sighed and walked over to see what she was doing.

　

"Maybe we should go talk to da Alliance?" Jof said quietly to Phogrim. "Da Legion will come for dem next."

　

"We can't go to the Alliance," the orc said. "They blame us for everything that's happened. They won't help. We'd have to surrender to get into their camp, and they're likely to execute us rather than hear us out."

　

"What choice do we have, mon?" the troll argued. "We have no allies here. Dey da only people we even seen. Besides, dey supposed ta be fightin' da Legion as well."

　

"Yeah. They're supposed to. How do we know that they didn't do this?" Phogrim asked, waving his arm at the destruction.

　

"Dose be fel flames."

　

"They have warlocks, same as us."

　

"I don't t'ink dey be doin' somethin' like this, mon," Jof said quietly. "Even for da Alliance, even though dey hate us, dis is..." He trailed off as the girl walked back up to them, looking at something small in her hands with a blank stare. She seemed to be wiping it off with her gloved hands while the wolf padded alongside her, finally lying down at her feet when she stopped.

　

"Phogrim is right. We can't ask the Alliance for help..." she said quietly.

　

Jof frowned. He had hoped she would be more reasonable than the orc.

　

Belidora looked up at him, seemingly noticing him watching her. She looked back down at the small metal trinket in her hands that she had dusted off enough to see the emblem on it. It was the same size and shape as the one the Warchief had given her during her predecessor's funeral. The only difference hers and the one found in the ashes of the camp was that - instead of having the mark of the Forsaken on it - it bore the blue and gold lion of the Alliance.

　

She handed it to the orc, who looked at it carefully, his face turning into an angry scowl. Phogrim simply tossed it to Jof. He did not bother to get his friend's reaction. "Come on. We need to find a safe place to sleep," he said, walking back toward the ridge. "Looks like we have more enemies than we thought here."

 


	3. Stomheim cont.

Author's Note: Locations, scenarios, and some characters such as Nathanos, Sylvanas, Lieutenant Surtees, and others are copyright Blizzard Entertainment, used without information and profit. Mork, Liralina, and Tikhuna are copyright to their respective owners, listed in chapter 1.

Enjoy.

　

#

　

Thad Nightbringer read over the roster of soldiers that were supposed to be at the small encampment for what seemed like the hundredth time. The Forsaken mage had been tasked to figure out who was missing. He knew there were some - they had sent twenty-seven to Stormheim, yet there were only twenty-four corpses among the rubble. He would have just as easily cut their losses and given the other three up for dead, but the Dark Lady's champion had told him that would be unacceptable. Someone - the Legion or the Alliance or who knows - had destroyed one of _her_ encampments and murdered _her_ soldiers, and the three that were missing may know something about it.

　

Besides, it was evidently bad for morale to leave them to die in the cliffs of Stormheim.

　

They had originally gone there to check on the base when they had not reported into Dalaran for several days past the time it was due. It was first assumed that the commander there had gotten lax with his reports, but Thad had somewhat known better. He had seen the commander before and he was always a stickler for protocol and punctuality. He had had a feeling then that something had gone wrong. When they found the charred remains of the camp and its inhabitants, it had confirmed his suspicions. Pity, that.

　

Thad had narrowed the list of candidates at least down to the three races - blood elf, orc, and troll. He had done it by a simple process of elimination - he counted how many bodies he had and the likely races, and then did the math. The blood elf was easy - few sin'dorei had been in the encampment, and the other corpses they had found were male. He set the girl's picture to the side. The Kirin Tor had offered to record them using some arcane spell for the eventuality of someone needing to be found. They had not expected to have use of it so early in the war, however.

　

It took a few more hours, but he had finally compiled three photos that he was sure were correct. He walked over to where they had set up a temporary tent to get out of the rain and handed the photographs to Blightcaller. The man jerked them out of his hands a bit roughly and looked them over. "It's these three?" he asked gruffly.

　

"Yes sir. They were assigned here as scouts. That explains why they were apparently not at the camp when whatever happened happened."

　

Nathanos frowned and looked at the three pictures. "Wonder if they're still alive?" he muttered, but Thad felt that he only seemed half interested in the answer. "We need to find out. The Queen has a personal interest in what happens in Stormheim, and we've been set far behind schedule with this mess. We'll send out some bats, search the area by air."

　

He shoved the three photographs back into Thad's hands. "Go to Dalaran and get the Kirin Tor to make us some posters to hand out. Wait, wait," he waved his hand for a moment, obviously thinking. "No. Get the Sunreavers to do it. We don't want the Alliance looking for these idiots too. Be quick about it. We have other things we need to get done here before the main fleet arrives."

　

Thad nodded and bowed his head slightly, walking back toward the bat master that had accompanied them on the ship. Nathanos was always such a joy to deal with.

#

Belidora coughed, but quickly covered her mouth, hoping it had not been too loud. The elk she had been stalking for the last hour looked up and in her direction and she froze, leaning against the tree and waiting. Soon, the beast bent down and began to pull at the grass once again. The huntress let her breath out and watched for a moment before drawing an arrow from her quiver. She nocked the arrow and prepared to fire.

　

After a few deep breaths, she loosed the arrow and it struck the elk just behind its front legs. She sighed as it ran off. She had been aiming for the eye, hoping for a quick kill. She disliked letting a beast suffer for longer than was necessary, and she also did not really have the energy to want to chase it. She slung the bow over her shoulder and looked down at her hands. They were shaking, hopefully just from the cold and not from the fever she could feel coming on.

　

_I'm getting too far away from the cave_ , she thought to herself, but it was the first kill that she had been able to get that wasn't rabbits or squirrels. Although she did not mind the smaller game, the two boys needed quite a bit more food than that, not to mention having to feed her pet. _Good hunting, my ass._

　

The sin'dorei followed the tracks quickly. Even if it was not a clean kill, the elk should be rapidly disabled. She would finish it off if it was still alive when she found it. It took walking a few hundred yards, but she eventually found the wounded animal. She sighed and walked over, pulling out her skinning knife and plunging it into its throat quickly. "Sorry," she muttered to the beast in Thalassian.

　

Belidora crossed her arms and thought. The elk was too large for her to carry and it would take her forever to drag it anywhere. She would have to get Phogrim or Jof to help her. Jof was out here somewhere trying to find some berries or something for them to eat, but he would take awhile to find. _Phogrim it is._

　

She turned, starting to walk back to the cave when she heard footsteps. She froze and listened. They were approaching her position and there was another sound as well. It sounded like the clatter of horses' hooves and the creaky noise of wooden wheels. She ran behind a tree and peaked around. Sure enough, there was a horse-drawn cart, driven by a human male. Some worgen was walking beside the cart, talking to him. She grabbed an arrow out of her quiver and watched.

　

It was incredibly tempting to start sending arrows flying their way. Nothing could make her feel better than good old vengeance after the past week. To do so would be incredibly dangerous, though. Despite their agreement that if someone was captured that the others would not put their lives in danger attempting a rescue, she knew that the plan would fall apart if it actually happened. Instead, she gritted her teeth and crouched down, trying to make her way out without them seeing her.

　

Belidora made it several yards before she heard the cart suddenly stop. She stopped as well. She knelt down behind a rock and turned around, looking at it. The human was still there, but the worgen was gone. She gritted her teeth and looking around frantically, but he was nowhere to be seen.

　

"Hello there, little girl. Where are your friends?" she heard a voice behind her say in Common.

　

She turned and loosed the arrow in the direction of the voice. It missed the worgen, who was crouched a dozen yards away, but it did cause him to duck. She backed away, sending arrows flying at him as rapidly as she could, but her aim was off from the shaking hands. Besides, he was fast, almost unbelievably so, and easily evaded them. Finally one hit its mark, but just barely, opening a gash in the worgen's arm. He snarled in pain, but began to approach. He dove at her, trying to tackle her, but she managed to sidestep him and gain some distance. She glanced to the side and noticed that the human was running in her direction as well, followed by someone much smaller with pink hair.

　

That damned gnome. We should have killed her when we had the chance.

　

The huntress stumbled backwards, keeping another nocked arrow pointed at the worgen. She could not stay and fight - the gnome was undoubtedly armed and would have no need to get close in order to kill her, unlike the other two. She sent one more arrow in the direction of the worgen - although she was fairly sure it missed - then turned and ran, ducking through the trees and rocks. She was not sure where she was going, but it was not in the direction of the cave. She did not want to give them any sort of hints as to where to look.

　

Belidora glanced back when she heard the worgen start to give chase. He was likely to be much faster and much, much stronger than she was. She was trying to figure out where he was coming from when suddenly her boots no longer hit solid ground. She yelled in surprise as she tumbled and slid down the cliff's edge. It was thankfully a steep incline - had it been a sheer face she would have plummeted to her death. Still, it was painful enough rolling on the small rocks, but after a few seconds of uncontrolled rolling she flew off the bottom of the rock wall and landed in a lake below.

　

She came up sputtering and gasping, but at least she was alive. She quickly swam to the cliff's face and pressed herself against it, holding on so she did not expend energy treading water. She could hear yelling in Common above her, but she could not make out what they were saying. She closed her eyes and waited, trying to catch her breath and block out the pain. She would have to keep moving in case they followed her, although there was no safe way down the cliff as far as she could tell. Surely they would not risk serious injury to catch her. After several minutes it stopped, and after a few more she built up the courage to swim to shore and start trekking back to the others.

　

It took the huntress nearly half an hour to stumble back to the cave. By that time Jof had already returned and was inspecting the berries he had found. He only halfway turned around to see her silhouette before speaking, "Ju get us some meat, girl?"

　

"I did, but I lost it," she muttered sourly, limping inside.

　

Phogrim was seated across from Jof, helping go through the berries. He had awakened with a fever that morning, so the other two had suggested he stay inside with the wolf to rest. Belidora had wanted to take the wolf with her, but it was difficult to control and keep it from chasing anything that moved since they had been unable to find sufficient food.

　

The orc glanced up from where he was helping the troll and jumped to his feet. "What the hell?"

　

"Alliance," she said, wincing. She set her bow and quiver down next to her polearm. She was surprised she had managed to hold onto it while rolling down the cliff, but she had lost almost all of her arrows. She sat down heavily and rubbed her sore shoulder. Phogrim stood above her and began calling forth the elements to heal her scrapes and bruises.

　

"Were you followed?" the orc asked.

　

"Don't think so."

　

"You need to know. We can't just guess at this."

　

She shook her head. "If they had been able to follow me, they would have caught me. Kind of fell off a cliff. Don't think they were going to jump off after me."

　

The orc sighed and rubbed his face. "Well, I guess just rest for now. We're going to cook these berries and we'll wake you up when they're ready. Should make them safer to eat, just in case."

　

She nodded and watched the orc walk away. Damned Alliance. She was so sick of eating berries and leaves. That elk would have tasted wonderful. She leaned onto her side and closed her eyes, falling into an uneasy sleep.

#

**_A few days later..._ **

Captain Blackwater took a drink of his coffee and set it back down, continuing to write his orders for the day.　 The feeling in the camp had been quite uneasy since they had found the ruins of the Horde encampment over a week earlier.　 He had evacuated the few non-combatants from the camp and gotten more reinforcements, mostly from the worgen, much to his frustration.　 Still, they were some of the most powerful fighters that the Alliance had to offer, and he would not turn down the help.　

　

Still, the reinforcements may not help.　 The Horde seemed to have been caught completely unaware and had offered no resistance.　 He had sent his sentries further out than usual, hoping that they would find any attackers that came from range, but so far they had found nothing.　 It was like the Legion was not going to target them at all for some unknown reason.　 Not that he was complaining.

　

The efforts to catch any of who he presumed were survivors of the attack had been unsuccessful.　 They had ascertained that there were probably three of them - the orc and blood elf that they had already known about, as well as a male troll.　 Their mismatched armor that appeared to be from no proper Horde military unit, as well as their apparent assignment as scouts, meant that they were likely low level conscripts or perhaps volunteers, not in any sort of command role.

　

They had further determined that the orc and troll were likely shamans, while the elf was a hunter.　 Of course, the way they determined this was that any attempt to get near any of them was met with fireballs or arrows flying the direction.　 They were generally near their mark as well.　 They were obviously intended more as an attack than a warning. Any sort of mercy they had shown the gnome days earlier had seemingly disappeared.

　

Blackwater leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.　 That last fact made his orders to take them alive with as little injury as necessary incredibly difficult to enforce.　 His forces pointed out - correctly, he had to admit - that this meant that the Horde had violated the ceasefire and that meant they could as well. The fact that they had succeeded in wounding some of his soldiers - albeit not severely - had made his troops even more eager to use lethal force in turn.

　

He had answered their protests by explaining that they were likely young conscripts, alone and perhaps sick, in the middle of an unfamiliar island, and being pursued by their perennial enemies. He would expect no less resistance from his own troops if they found themselves in a similar situation. Really, he secretly somewhat admired their intractability. Many in the Alliance defined the Horde by their apparent cowardice (at best) and treachery (at worst) after the events at the Broken Shore. Blackwater had dealt with the Horde for years - he had never been able to call them cowards before then, and although he had been there . . . well, these three evidently did not display that trait.

　

Still, they were getting to be dangerous to have running around with their sudden penchant for violent attacks. The "hunting parties" that he sent out reported they'd only see one at a time - although they almost certainly were together if they had survived that long - and that the Horde soldiers would retreat when they realized they were outnumbered. They also reported that this realization took longer and longer as the days went by - either because they really were sick and were getting fatigued and sloppy, or because they were tired of running.

　

In any other circumstance, with such violent, stubborn resistance, he would have given them the deaths they so clearly desired. He could not do that this time. He needed to get them there, find out what they were doing in their own camp, and how it could have gone so wrong. Perhaps he could prevent such a catastrophe befalling his own people then.

　

He let the front legs of his chair fall back down to the ground and rested his chin on his left hand, continuing to fill out the tedious paperwork. He was just about to yawn when a night elf, Lieutenant Llenrus Wildstar, knocked on the door and saluted. He returned the salute. "Good morning," he said tiredly. "What can I do for you?"

　

"They caught them, sir. All three of them," the night elf said.

　

Mikal got up and grabbed his cloak, starting to put it on. "Were any of our forces injured taking them?"

　

"A young man was knocked out cold by the orc, but he should be fine. Seelafizzle said that they had caught them sleeping, huddled in a cave. It was difficult to reach, so I guess they figured they didn't need a sentry. Who knows? We captured a wolf too, looks to be the girl's pet."

　

"Good!" he said, finishing with the clasps. "That's probably the best possible scenario. Where are they?"

　

"Just inside the gate. They brought them in on a cart. Probably got tired of fighting to drag them along."

　

Mikal pulled the hood over his head and stepped out into the rain. The camp was a loud cacophony of activity as people were beginning their day and trying to get to where the stew was being served for breakfast. They largely ignored the small cart that had pulled in just inside of the gate. Inside of it were three blindfolded and shackled prisoners. A couple of the soldiers he had sent out were struggling to get the muzzled frostwolf into a pen nearby.

　

Hrolf Driscoll was leaning against the end of the cart, trying to keep his cloak wrapped around him tightly. At the front of the cart were Kathkin and the young scout who had reported the Horde base destroyed in the first place. Justin? Mikal was fairly sure his first name was Justin, but the surname escaped him.

　

The officer smiled and started to congratulate them on the mission, but his smile quickly faded as he got a better look at his prisoners. They were all three shivering - although he could not determine whether it was due to fear, illness, the cold rain, or a combination of the three - but the more disconcerting thing was their bloody, bruised faces and torsos. He sighed and walked over to Hrolf. "I ordered you to not abuse them," he snapped.

　

The worgen simply shrugged. "They resisted."

　

Mikal looked back at the prisoners. The troll and orc were seated facing one another towards the front of the cart, while the blood elf was nearer the back. They barely moved, but he could tell they were straining to listen over the rain and background noise. He put a hand under the elf's chin and lifted it up. Her skin, which he expected to be freezing from the rain, was burning with fever. She tensed at the touch of someone she could not see, but she did not make a sound and her battered face was an otherwise unreadable mask. If any of them were afraid, they were careful not to show it. He let her go and looked at the side of the cart that she was bound to, frowning at the blood spattered on it.

　

"You two!" he yelled at the front of the cart, toward Justin and Kathkin. "Get back here. Now." The two exchanged a look but did as they were ordered.

　

He stepped back and stared at the three Alliance soldiers, then finally said. "I was going to give you three days leave for a job well done, but you disobeyed me," he said coldly.

　

"They tried to fight!" Hrolf snapped again, but he was silenced by an angry glare from his commander.

　

"They were already in the cart when they were beaten. Not only did you disobey my orders, you lied to me about it." He glanced over his shoulder. "Lieutenant, these three are to be confined to barracks for the rest of the day. No rations. I will decide the rest of your sanctions later."

　

He noticed the other two glare at the worgen as they started to walk away. Before they got past the front of the cart, he heard a cough. "Wait. Human," a hoarse voice said. It was the orc. Blackwater looked over at him, a bit annoyed at being addressed as such, but then realized that the orc likely had no idea who was speaking.

　

"What is it, prisoner?" he sighed.

　

"The two . . . the little gnome and the boy. They stopped him. It's not their fault."

　

Blackwater crossed his arms. "And who's 'him'?"

　

"The worgen." This time it was the blood elf. The troll remained quiet.

　

Blackwater sighed again and motioned the teenager and the gnome back over. He kept an eye on Driscoll as the night elf escorted him to the barracks. The way he let out a low snarl as he glared back at the prisoners gave the officer a feeling that he would have to keep them as far away from the worgen as possible. He sighed and looked at the other two soldiers.

　

"Were you really going to take the fall for this?" he asked angrily, then lowered his voice. "It's not a good thing that I get more honesty and honor from a couple of Horde prisoners than I do from my own troops. If you _ever_ try to cover up for someone disobeying my orders again, I assure you, your punishment will be much worse than whoever you think you're helping."

　

He watched as they looked down at the ground. "Go get some help and take them, get their wounds cleaned up, get them some blankets, and then have them in my war room in an hour. Bring some food while you're at it. I want to ask them some questions and it's going to take awhile. Now go."

#

Captain Blackwater looked up as the three prisoners were pushed into his war room. They were still bound and blindfolded, but their hands were in front of them now and at least they had gotten to dry off and had been cleaned up somewhat. Their armor had also been taken away, leaving them with just the wool and linen clothing underneath. They did not try to move or struggle against their bindings, but he doubted he would either if he had the tip of a sword pressed to his back.

　

"Take their blindfolds off. I'm sure they've figured out where they are," Blackwater said calmly, taking another bite of his stew. He watched their faces when they got their first glance of where they were. They were obviously nervous, but it did not seem to rise to the level of fear. The pallor of their skin showed that all three were sick, likely with pneumonia from the cold, damp conditions.

　

The three looked around the room silently before looking back at him. He allowed them to do so - he had hidden anything of any tactical importance before they arrived. When he had their attention, he smiled. "Welcome to our camp," he said pleasantly. "It appears you are to be our guests for awhile. Have a seat. We have much to discuss."

　

They hesitated, but the soldiers behind them pushed them forward and down into the three chairs across the table from the commander. "Thank you," the officer said. "You're dismissed." The soldiers hesitantly saluted and stepped outside. He suspected they stayed just outside his door, but that was fine. The day he could not handle some bound and sick prisoners was the day he should probably retire.

　

"So, what do they call you?" he asked the three prisoners. When he got silent stares as a response, he set his spoon down and folded his hands. "I know you speak Common, at least the two of you," he said, pointing at the orc and blood elf, "and I suspect your troll friend does as well. All I'm asking is your names." He pointed at them each in turn.

　

"Phogrim Warfang."

　

"Belidora Bloodfeather."

　

"Dey just call me Jof."

　

"Now see? That wasn't so hard," he said. They still sat there, frowning at him. He thought of something. "Tell you what. I'll answer a question you have. Go ahead."

　

They sat there for a few moments before the orc asked quietly, "When are we to be executed?"

　

Mikal blinked. It was not a question he quite expected, but he sighed and answered it all the same, "You're not going to be executed, at least as long as you don't give me reason to do so." He watched as they looked at each other and back at him. They did not seem to react with any positivity at the news.

　

He sighed. "You do not trust me, do you?" This time, it was the blood elf who shook her head. He smiled. "You're smart. I do not trust you either. I'm telling you the truth, though. As long as you give me no reason to harm you, then neither I nor my men will abuse you. This I promise you, on my honor." He reached over into a small bowl on the table and tossed a few small rolls to their side of the table. "Eat. It will help you regain your strength. They're still warm."

　

It took them a few seconds, but they slowly grasped the rolls with their bound hands and, after inspecting them, began to eat them obediently. He rested his chin on his hand. "Now, like I said, we have much to discuss. What is the Horde doing in Stormheim?"

　

They looked at each other, as if they were trying to decide whether to respond, but finally the orc said, "Preparing to fight the Legion." His voice was flat, but he seemed genuine.

　

"Good. That's the same thing the Alliance is doing," Blackwater said. "It appears that your camp unfortunately has already met some Legion activity." He watched for a moment as they glared at him. Probably brought up some painful memories. He was careful to make the next part sound as sincere as possible. "I'm very sorry for your losses. It was a brutal, cowardly attack. Do you know anything about it?"

　

"We came back from our patrol and it was already destroyed," the blood elf said. "Everyone was dead."

　

"How many of you were there in the camp?" he asked. He got silence as a response. He thought of pressing the issue, but they had counted the bodies when they had gone to inspect the camp. It was unlikely the three had buried any. He shook his head. "Did you find any sign of the Legion prior to then?" Again, silence.

　

Blackwater rubbed his face and leaned forward. "I'm only asking to protect my own people. I know you don't want to talk to me, but you're not protecting anyone now. I'm much more interested in fighting the Legion than I am in fighting your Horde right now." He paused. "Besides, I'm sure you would very much like the demons who murdered your comrades in their sleep to be destroyed. For what faults your Horde has, you have a strong respect for justice, or at least vengeance."

　

"No. We not see the Legion anywhere in Stormheim," the troll said quietly.

　

Blackwater nodded. He looked at the three. Despite their apparent youth, they each had several scars that were visible, and probably more underneath their clothes. They were obviously more experienced than he had first assumed. Furthermore, he had seen the weapons that had been seized from them - they were of far better quality than the actual armor that they wore, and they seemed to be of a matching style and almost brand new. They had been awarded the armaments for something, and he had a feeling that he knew exactly what it was.

　

It had nothing to do with Stormheim, really, but it was something he had spent many nights staring at the ceiling wondering about.

　

"Tell me," Mikal asked, "did you fight on the Broken Shore?"

　

They all seemed surprised at the question, but they each nodded. He noticed that for the first time since he had taken their blindfolds off, they refused to meet his gaze, instead looking down at the ground. He watched them carefully, but continued to speak, "I was there as well. As I recall, the Horde was supposed to protect our flank, and instead sounded the retreat." He paused, careful to keep the anger out of his voice. He did not wish to get into a shouting match with them. "Why?"

　

He was once again answered with silence, although he did notice them glancing at one another. Their unwillingness to answer _this_ question did begin to frustrate him. When he spoke again, he had an edge to his voice, "Do you really hate us so much that you are willing to see the Legion win to have us die?"

　

They looked up at him then, each wearing a shocked expression that quickly turned to anger. They remained silent, and he slowly felt a bit guilty for the accusation - it would not have been them to make the decision, and it was a little unfair to blame common soldiers for their leaders' actions during a chaotic battle. He picked up his spoon and was about to eat again, trying to think of another, unrelated question to ask when he heard the girl speak.

　

"You have no idea what happened up there, do you?" she said, the bitterness dripping from her hoarse voice. "None of you do."

　

He stared at them. They still wore angry expressions, but there was something else in them as well. Pain. He sighed. "Guards," he called. Sure enough, they came in within seconds. He rubbed his face and pointed. "Take these three to their cell. Make sure that they have blankets and a warm meal tonight. I think we're done for now."

#

The three prisoners huddled together, covered up in blankets and trying to sleep on the dirt floor of the prison. Although the human Captain had kept his word and they had suffered no further physical maltreatment, he also did not let them forget that they were prisoners of the Alliance. As such, they had not seen the outside of the enchanted cell for a couple of days, and the heavy manacles on their wrists and ankles were a constant reminder of their predicament - not to mention the ugly Alliance banners hanging up outside the cell on the opposite wall.

　

Still, it could have been worse - they got a few meals each day, and they were much more nutritious and filling than what they had managed to scavenge out in the wilderness. It was also the first time they had been warm and dry since their camp had been destroyed.

　

"You're going to get us in trouble," a high pitched voice whispered from outside the room, just as they were about to fall into a deeper sleep. "We're not supposed to be talking to them. They're the enemy, remember?"

　

"We won't get in trouble if you just shut up," another voice answered. This one belonged to a male. There were footsteps outside of the small building that contained the cell.

　

Jof was the first to wake up. He sat up slowly, careful to not wake up his cellmates, and rubbed his eyes with his chained hands. He squinted as the door opened and shut. There were two figures standing there, one tall and one very small. It took the troll a few seconds to recognize them, but he eventually did. They were the human boy and the gnome girl, the ones that had captured the three in the first place. He narrowed his eyes at them as they got closer. "What you want?" he growled.

　

"I told you this was a bad idea," Kathkin muttered.

　

Justin shushed her, then looked back at the troll. "Wake up your friends. We have something for you."

　

Jof scowled at them, but slowly reached over and shook the other two awake. He was careful not to touch any of their bruises or abrasions - his regeneration had long since healed him, but the others lacked that ability. It made him feel a little guilty, although it was not something he could do anything about. They slowly roused and got into a sitting position, staring glumly at the two Alliance soldiers outside of the glowing bars.

　

Justin reached into the pack on his belt and pulled out three tiny, parchment-wrapped parcels. He handed them through the bars to the three prisoners. "Here. They're from Dalaran. We just got back from there."

　

The three exchanged a glance and opened the small packages. Inside each was a small pastry. Belidora looked up, a confused look on her face. "What's this?"

　

"It's a brownie, stupid. It's sweet. You eat it," Kathkin said, staring back at the door, as if she expected someone to burst in any moment.

　

"I know what it is," she snapped back. "Why would you give us this?"

　

"You got us out of a lot of trouble with our commander by telling him what happened," Justin said quietly. He paused when the three prisoners smiled slightly and began to eat. "Why'd you do that?"

　

Phogrim swallowed the last of the brownie and shrugged. "We were just telling the truth. Why did you stop that worgen idiot? Were you afraid of getting in trouble or something?"

　

The boy frowned and seemed to think for a moment before speaking. "Yes, but that's not why I did it."

　

"Then why did you?" the young sin'dorei asked.

　

"Because what the Sergeant was doing to you guys was wrong."

　

The troll sighed and gathered up the parchments as they finished, letting the boy take them. "Ju 'aven't been doin' this long, have you, mon?"

　

Justin sat down outside the bars so he was at least somewhat closer to eye level with them. "No. I've . . . I've never done this before at all. I was just starting my training as a paladin when the Legion invaded. I've never even seen any Horde soldiers before I got here."

　

"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it's really not," Belidora said quietly.

　

The boy snickered. "No. I suppose it wouldn't be."

　

The elf looked down at the ground, then over at the gnome, who was still watching the door. "Kathkin, right?"

　

"Uh huh."

　

"I'm . . . sorry that I hit you so hard," she said quietly, although it was obvious that it was only half true. "I had to make sure you let go of your rifle." She paused for a moment. "Is my wolf okay?"

　

The gnome turned around and was about to say something curt, but then sighed. "Yeah. Your pet is fine. She eats a lot, though. The stable master gave her a whole hindquarter from an elk and she ate it all in less than an hour."

　

Belidora smiled slightly, then frowned again. "Can you do me a favor? If I . . . die here, can you make sure she gets taken care of? Send her back to the Horde or get a hunter here to take care of her? I'd prefer the former, but if you can't..."

　

"You're not going to die here," Justin said reassuringly. "None of you are. The Captain is a good man, an honorable man. I'm sure he's trying to find a way to get you back to your people when he can."

　

The three exchanged a quick glance before Phogrim spoke. "You're an honorable young man as well, and you're an honorable, um, lady, gnome," he said. "Thank you for the gifts."

　

The boy smiled gently and stood up, brushing the dust off of his seat. "I hope you can sleep okay in here. I know it's probably not the most comfortable quarters," he said quietly. He and the girl waved. "Light be with you all," he said gently as he shut the door.

　

When the Alliance soldiers left, the Horde soldiers lay back down, trying to go back to sleep. Belidora rested her head on Phogrim's massive arm and closed her eyes.

　

"He a sweet boy," Jof said quietly. "Da humans, some of dem still be innocent, I guess. I wonder if I ever be like him when I was a kid?"

　

"He's too sweet. He shouldn't be here," Phogrim replied tiredly.

　

"None of us should be," the sin'dorei muttered quietly.

#

Sergeant Hrolf Driscoll leaned back in his chair until the seat back touched the wall, then took a sip of the Dalaran red wine in his hand. It was the middle of the night in Dalaran and the streets were largely abandoned, but The Hero's Welcome was full of quiet chatter. He listened to it and closed his eyes. The Captain had finally let him out of the barracks after the third day with the warning that if he was caught harassing the prisoners that he would, how did he put it? _Throw you in the cell with them and let you see how fun it is._

_Stupid man_ , Hrolf thought angrily. The three _had_ resisted capture, and besides, they were dangerous creatures. He rubbed his now scarred arm, where that little wench's arrow had pierced it, and frowned. He had learned a long time back that the only thing that the Horde understood and respected was violence, so that was what he was going to give them. He had hoped that the humiliation of being bound and beaten would have been enough for them to keep their mouths shut when asked about their injuries, but evidently they did not care even enough to preserve that small shred of honor and dignity. _Probably should have gagged them. I'll remember that next time._

　

Besides, there were those two idiot kids, the gnome and the boy. They had ruined it as well. _They'll learn. Better not cry to me when one of those walking corpses drops some plague on their families._

Now he was on supply duty, picking up some raw materials for the camp. At least the Captain had given him some gold to restock their alcohol supplies. That was the most interesting part of the trip. Still, he was due back first thing in the morning, so he could not partake too much. He was only in the tavern because sleep eluded him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes tiredly. It was a human male. "Hey. You came from Stormheim, right?"

　

"Uh huh."

　

"Come with me. Lieutenant Surtees wishes to speak to you. He has some questions."

　

He sat back up and left a few silver coins as a tip on the bar, then followed the human quietly. He had seen Lieutenant Surtees before, but had not worked with him closely. Still, he was a fellow Gilnean, so that was a good thing. Maybe he would be more reasonable than his own commander.

　

They walked into a small room. The officer was seated behind a table, reading what appeared to be a waterlogged piece of parchment. He motioned for the door to be closed behind them. The human did so and Hrolf stepped forward, saluting, "You wish to speak to me, sir?"

　

"Yes. Sit down, sit down," the officer said. When he did so, he handed him the paper. It was a blurred mess, but he struggled to read it in his tired and slightly inebriated state.

　

Surtees did not wait for him to finish. "We found this in the ruins of a Forsaken ship off of the coast of Azsuna. It appears to be some sort of captain's log. It mentions Stormheim, which is why I wanted to talk to you. From the rest of the manifesto, we have reason to believe that the . . . Warchief of the Horde has found out about something there that she wishes to take for herself."

　

"Which is?"

　

"Val'kyr."

　

Hrolf blinked slowly, looked up at the Lieutenant, then down at the paper. That was terrible news indeed. "We have not found any sign of any activity of that sort that I'm aware of. Perhaps it's just a rumor?"

　

"It could be, but the banshee getting access to more val'kyr would be a disaster, both for our people and for the Alliance as a whole. We received word from your commander that the Horde encampment had been destroyed. When you searched the ruins, did you find any sign they had found something? That they were getting close, even?"

　

Hrolf opened his mouth to explain that there was nothing to find, that any maps or manifestos had been turned to ash by the fel fire, but then he stopped. He continued to stare at the paper, but a grin slowly began to appear on his face. "No, but I know some . . . 'people' who would know."

#

Captain Blackwater stretched and walked over to the more comfortable chair in the corner of his office, sitting down and picking up a book. He had been up on his feet for almost twelve hours, dealing with one minor emergency after another, and for the first time in a few weeks he was able to sit down and read something other than orders from the higher ups and supply lists. He propped his feet on a barrel that he used as a footstool and table and opened the book up. He had not been sitting there two minutes when there was a knock on his door and the night elf Lieutenant entered.

　

"Sir, you have a visitor."

　

"Tell them I'm busy," he grumbled.

　

"I can't, sir. General Lemley is here and is demanding to speak to you."

　

He closed his eyes for a moment and put his feet back on the ground. His mind raced as he tried to remember who Lemley was, but he motioned for the elf to send the General in.

　

A tall, blonde woman with her hair tied in a tight bun walked in. She was older than Mikal by almost a decade, but she was still somewhat beautiful. She wore a serious expression as he quickly got to his feet and saluted her, but she returned the salute and stuck out her hand to shake his.

　

"General, we have so few visitors here in Stormheim. Had I known you intended on visiting, I would have had a feast prepared. I'm sorry for the disarray in our camp, we are trying to put up supplies we just received from Dalaran," Mikal said pleasantly, albeit frantically, his mind still racing. She _was_ familiar, and it was slowly dawning on him where from. Some of the soldiers he had found under his command in the Broken Isles had mentioned a female General matching her description. April. Was her name April? He seemed to remember it being something of that sort.

　

She looked around, seemingly disinterested in what he was saying. Finally she spoke, her voice carrying the same serious tone as showed on her face. "I've been told you have Horde prisoners here."

　

Mikal frowned, since he had turned away from her to tidy his desk hurriedly, but then spoke, "Yes. We do. Three of them. Scouts." He had gone to great lengths to hide their existence from those outside of the camp, both because the Horde getting word of it would likely start an armed conflict or a violent rescue attempt, and the Alliance hearing of it would cause Light knows what sort of issues.

　

"Good," she said curtly. "Have they talked?"

　

He turned back around. "I questioned them about some things. I don't think they probably know much about anything important. They were ill and alone when we finally caught them, and they seem to be conscripts or volunteers."

　

"What did they tell you?"

　

He shrugged. "Nothing of any importance, really. Said they were just scouting around the region."

 

"What were they scouting for?"

　

Mikal frowned slightly. He did not like her tone and he slowly thought of another descriptor that the soldiers had muttered about her when they thought he was not listening. _Bitch. I think it was bitch._ "Nothing that they mentioned. I guess getting the lay of the land. That's what we're trying to do as well."

　

"Did they say that the Warchief had told them to look for anything in particular? We have reason to believe that the bitch might be looking for something quite . . . powerful in Stormheim."

　

He shook his head again. "No. Like I said, they don't seem to know much. If there was something that the Horde was specifically searching for, then I don't think they would let low ranking soldiers with a high risk of capture know what it was."

　

The General turned to look at him. "Captain, we have reason to believe that the Banshee Queen is attempting to find val'kyr. I don't think I need to explain to you why that cannot happen," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "Take me to them. I will find out from these prisoners myself what they know."

　

Mikal nodded slowly and walked out of his office with her following closely behind. He noticed two worgen walking with her that he did not recognize, meaning they had probably come with her. Odd. She was obviously not Gilnean. He brushed it off and led them to the small building that the prisoners were being housed in. As he walked, he remembered other . . . rumors about her methods. He frowned, hoping they were not true.

　

He got to the door several paces ahead of the others and could hear a loud argument coming from inside.

　

"Ju can't wipe out da board just 'cause ju be losin'!" Obviously the troll.

　

"You cheated!" This one was a woman's voice, so the blood elf.

　

He sighed and opened up the door, stepping inside. They immediately fell silent and stared at him. The two who were fighting were seated across from each other, with what looked like something drawn in the dirt in between them that had been partially wiped away. The third one, the orc, was leaned against the wall, evidently trying to nap, but he opened his eyes and looked at the door as it opened.

　

He saw the girl move one of her bare, shackled feet over something. Dice. They were not supposed to have dice. Normally he would have demanded to know where they had gotten it, but he decided that the day was about to get bad enough for them.

　

Mikal absently noted that - although they were filthy from sleeping in the dirt - their wounds from the beating they received had finally, for the most part, healed, leaving only faint bruises and scabs. That was, at least for now. He frowned. He actually felt a twinge of pity for them, and it was something he had never felt for any Horde soldiers before.

　

The General stepped in and surveyed the three through the glowing bars. Mikal noticed that they frowned at the newcomer, and especially the worgen escort with her. She turned back to him. "You know, you shouldn't keep them all together. They could plot something, and keeping them separated makes them less likely to attempt escape in the first place if they can't assure their comrades' safety."

　

He looked at her and sighed. "It kept them cooperative, and besides, we only have one of these cages to keep them from using magic. Like I said, they were sick when they got here. They weren't going to be running anywhere."

　

She rolled her eyes and looked at the three. "What do you know about the val'kyr?" she asked.

　

The three looked at each other then back at her. "Those . . . things in Undercity? That the Warchief uses?" the blood elf said.

　

"Not those. I know about those," the General said. "The ones you are looking for."

　

Mikal watched the prisoners' faces carefully. They seemed completely confused by the statement. The orc turned to the troll and said something in Orcish quietly until one of the worgen slammed his fist into the bars, startling them.

　

"Common only," the man said. The three stared back at him, but fell silent for a moment.

　

"We not be lookin' for val'kyr," the troll said quietly, finally speaking up. "We just be fillin' out a map for da campaign against da Legion."

　

"Don't lie to me, troll. You will not like what happens."

　

The orc looked at the other two and rolled his eyes. "Look," he said snidely. "We don't know what you're talking about, woman. What val'kyr?"

　

The woman stared at them for a moment, then sighed. "Insolent little . . . I don't have time for these games. Turn around, on your knees, face the wall."

　

The three Horde soldiers glared at her for a moment, but slowly did as they were told. It was not like they could do anything to resist, caged and shackled. The General turned to one of the worgen, pointing at the girl's back. "Start with that one," she hissed.

　

The worgen walked over, jerking the keys out of the hand of Wildstar and opening the door. The three prisoners stayed motionless until one of the worgen grabbed the blood elf by the back of her collar and her arm, jerking her to her feet and pulling her toward the door. Her two cellmates' heads whipped in her direction and they attempted to get to their feet, but were met with a sword aimed at their throats, forcing them back onto their knees until both worgen could get through the cell door. As soon as it slammed shut the orc and troll got to their feet again, glaring out the bars.

　

"Wait!" Blackwater said, backtracking to get in front of the door to the building, blocking their exit, although he knew it was only temporary. "What are you doing? They obviously don't know anything."

　

"They're lying, Captain."

　

"How do you know that? They could be telling the truth!"

　

"Well, then I guess we'll find out, won't we? Move or I will lock you up for interfering."

　

He gritted his teeth and glanced over at the prisoner. The worgen was much larger and obviously much stronger than she was, but she was still struggling angrily, despite the shackles on her wrists and ankles. She managed to drive her elbow back into his gut, causing him to growl, but he responded by drawing his sword and pressing it to her throat. She stopped squirming immediately.

　

Mikal sighed. He did not want to be anywhere near there for what was about to happen. He frowned and stepped aside, watching as they walked past. He saw the Horde soldier glance back at her comrades before she was dragged through the door, and felt a pang of guilt at the flash of fear on her face. It was the first time any of them had shown it to him during their entire captivity.

　

Blackwater closed his eyes for a moment then looked over at Llenrus, who had a similarly grim look on his face. The Lieutenant shook his head and walked toward the door. Blackwater was about to follow him and get out before it started, but then he heard a voice behind him. "Wait! What they be doin'? Where they be takin' her?"

　

He thought of ignoring the questions, but he could not bring himself to do it. He turned around and faced them. "The General needs that information."

　

"We don't know nothin' 'bout val'kyr!" the troll protested. "She don't know it either. What they gonna do to her?"

　

Mikal opened his mouth and then closed it again, both because he did not know the exact details and because he could not bring himself to give any generalities. He closed his gray eyes tightly as he heard the first scream come from just outside building. He decided then and there that he hated this General. Torturing her within earshot of the cell was just another unnecessary layer of cruelty.

　

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the faces of the other two prisoners. They were glaring at him with raw hatred in their eyes. He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said plainly.

　

"You gave us your word, human," the orc snarled, the rage evident in his voice. Mikal started to say something, but the orc cut him off. "I can see how much your honor is worth."

　

The human sighed. He wanted to protest that there was nothing he could do, that the General far outranked him, but he did not. There was nothing he could say to the two prisoners to make up for what was being done. He cringed again as he heard another scream and gritted his teeth, turning and walking out the door.

#

Mork ran the bar cloth over the tables and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before limping to the next one. Even with the weather slowly getting cooler is it turned toward winter, it never truly became cold in Durotar. The fact that they had not removed the iron armaments when Garrosh had been deposed did nothing to cool the city, either.

　

He looked up as a couple of soldiers, Tauren, walked in. "I'm sorry, fellas. Not going to be open for another hour."

　

"We're just putting out some missions fliers for the higher ups. Some of them offer pretty decent amounts of gold, mostly from the Broken Isles," the one in front said. "Figured we'd ask if we could put some up in here. Don't you have some sort of board that we could use?"

　

Mark tossed the bar cloth behind the counter and held his hand out. "Anything to help the war effort, I suppose," he said, thumbing through them.

　

"Maybe some of your liquid courage can get us some more volunteers," the Tauren replied as Mork read.

　

Most of them were fairly monotonous or mundane. There were requests for skins and ores from Highmountain, someone willing and able to translate runes in Azsuna, and a few bounties on some various demons or other foes.

　

Mork was about to stop reading and simply accept them to put them up later when he ran across one much different than the others. He set the other fliers down and stared at the pictures of the three young Horde soldiers. The two Tauren had stopped paying attention to him for the most part, but then the one who was slightly older noticed the orc's expression. He walked over and glanced over his shoulder, then grimaced. "Friends of yours?"

　

Mork sighed. "Customers. Always seemed like nice kids, though," he said, then looked up at the soldier. "What happened?"

　

"Sad deal, really. We had a small encampment in Stormheim to gather intel before the main offensive. These three were assigned there. Anyway, the camp was completely destroyed, presumably by the Legion." The Tauren shook his head. "Guess they didn't find their bodies in the rubble with the rest of them."

　

Mork looked back down at the paper. "Maybe they're still alive, then?" he said quietly, letting a small bit of hope creep into his voice.

　

It did not take long for it to be dashed. "It's been two weeks, sir. I wouldn't . . . get my hopes up. They sent out a few search parties when we found out people were missing, but they haven't found any sign of them. We can't really expend that many resources to find them, especially when the odds are..." He trailed off.

　

Mork closed his eyes for a moment and nodded slowly. "Thank you. I'll put them up."

　

The two Tauren nodded back sadly and thanked him before departing. When he was sure that they were gone, he sat down heavily on one of the stools and buried his face in his large hands for a moment.

　

Ever since the Legion came, there had been weekly postings of the Horde casualties on the Warchief's command board outside Grommash Hold. The list was always simple - name, race, and designation as dead, captured, or missing. He would scan the names each week, seeing if any familiar ones were there. There sadly sometimes were - but always in the dead column.

　

Mork had always figured that the dead column was difficult enough to handle. He had been wrong. Dead meant there was some finality to it, and that whatever had happened - no matter how brutal - it was now over. Holding a rare missing poster for three young soldiers he had talked to a little over a month ago was excruciating. He had been a bartender in Orgrimmar for years. He had long since gotten used to seeing soldiers one day, drinking and boasting, then finding out the next day that they had been killed. Hell, very few that had been there the night before the disastrous assault on the Broken Shore had ever returned.

　

_These three had_ , he thought. The first time he had seen them again was nearly a week later when they had stumbled in - bloody, covered in soot and dirt, and exhausted - after one of the brutal attacks by the Legion on Kalimdor. Still, they had happily told him of their (probably exaggerated) exploits in exchange for the free bread, cheese, and beer. They never spoke about the Broken Shore, however - few who had been there would. It seemed incredibly unfair that anyone would survive that bloodbath, only to meet some awful fate several weeks later.

　

Mork sighed and got up, limping over to his announcement board and beginning to put up the fliers. He put the missing poster up where he was sure his patrons would see it. Hopefully one of them would try to look for them, even if the Horde military as a whole would not bother. He looked one more time at the pictures of the three soldiers.

　

The orc had heard other soldiers talk about the process of getting their pictures taken, which was evidently mandatory to take part in the campaign. They had likely been recorded by the mages of the Kirin Tor before they left Dalaran in case something happened. The three had sheepish, somewhat nervous expressions. The Kirin Tor's service evidently served as a source of entertainment for most of the soldiers, especially the younger ones, and had probably done the same for these three as well. They had likely never thought that they would be of any official use.

　

He sighed. "What happened to you kids?" he muttered, mostly to himself. It was a stupid question. Outside of the small chance that they were able to hide and survive on a Legion-saturated island, there were only two options:

　

They were either dead or taken hostage by the Legion. He silently prayed it was the former.

　

"I wish I were young again," he muttered to the empty tavern as he turned to continue to get ready to open. "It would be nice to cleave a few hundred demons' skulls right about now."

#

Phogrim had never felt more useless in his life. He had seen many battles and had saved countless Horde lives, but now he was completely helpless. He could not fight with the shackles and he could not use magic with this damned cage. It was the latter problem that tormented him now. He looked down at his two friends. It had been a few hours since the Alliance had dumped the two, covered in gruesome wounds and only partly conscious, back into the cell. Since then, they had barely moved.

　

The orc closed his eyes and thought about how that had gone. He and Jof had begun plotting an escape attempt as soon as the Captain had left, but that had been foiled when those monsters returned without their comrade.

　

_"Where she be?" Jof had demanded when the worgen had tried to order him to his feet. Evidently they were not quite as eager to try manhandling a large troll as they were the blood elf girl._

_The human had smiled at him through the bars and said politely, "If you want to see her, I suggest you come along peacefully, troll. Jof, is it?"_

_The two had exchanged a glance, but Jof shook his head, calling off the plan. The troll was probably right - it would have been almost impossible to find her before things could have gone horribly wrong - but it had likely been their last chance to escape, as well._

_Phogrim had spent the next few hours trying again to block out the noises from what seemed to be just outside the building. Jof made less noise than Belidora had, but then trolls were a very resilient people. Any noise he did make was obviously due to something excruciating._

_When they had been brought back, covered from head to toe with obvious signs of torture, he had expected to be taken next. Instead, that woman had simply said in a pleasant voice, "Here you go. Try to make sure they don't die. We may still have need of them."_

_Phogrim had glared at her through the glowing bars after he was unable to rouse his friends. "You sadistic bitch," he growled in Common so he would be sure she understood. "I'm going to tear your limbs off."_

_"Well, that's not very nice. I haven't had my men so much as touch you."_

_"They did nothing to you. We don't even have the information you want."_

_"Actually, you're right," she had said in a mocking tone. "They may have lied, but they were the respectful ones. You were the disrespectful one, weren't you? Well, consider this your punishment, then."_

　

Phogrim opened his eyes as he heard a weak moan beside him. Jof was slowly coming to. The orc crawled over to him and gently touched him on the shoulder, frowning as the troll cringed away.

　

"Hey man. It's me," he said quietly. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

　

It took several seconds, but the troll eventually opened his eyes. Phogrim cringed at the look of pain in them, but when the troll spoke his voice was steady.

　

"Phogrim," he whispered. "You be okay? Dey hurt you?"

　

"They . . . didn't do anything to me," the orc replied, guilt gripping him. "What did they do to you guys?"

　

Jof did not answer immediately. He looked around and then reach down and brushed the black hair off the sin'dorei's clammy forehead. He stopped when she let out a weak whimper. She was lying next to him, in between him and the bars of the cell. Phogrim sighed.

　

The troll grimaced and stared at the ceiling. "Dey did a lot of t'ings," he said sullenly. "Dey force me ta drink some . . . potion. Da girl too, I imagine. It make da pain worse, more intense." He winced and turned to the orc. "What we gonna do, mon? Even if we wanted to tell dem anything, we not be havin' what they want."

　

Phogrim sighed. "I guess we can make something up," he whispered.

　

"Me an' da girl tried dat. Dey just beat us worse when da stories didn't match."

　

Phogrim frowned at him, then tensed when he heard the door to the building creak open. He turned slightly, ready to begin hurling insults at the General again, then stopped.

　

"What do you want?" the orc muttered.

　

The boy and the gnome did not immediately answer him. They seemed to be carrying something toward the cell. He slowly realized it was a skin of water and a small loaf of bread.

　

The boy stopped in his tracks when he got outside the cell. He was staring at the two wounded prisoners with a horrified look on his face. He swallowed before he spoke. "What . . . what happened?"

　

Phogrim sighed. "They were tortured. Looks like your leaders aren't as honorable as you seem to think, boy."

　

The boy's brow creased with worry. He handed the skin and loaf to the gnome, who wore a similar expression. Then he knelt down and reached through the bars. He grabbed the sin'dorei's shackled hand gently, since it was the only person he could reach.

　

Phogrim was about to smack his hand away and demand he not touch her, then stopped. The boy seemed to be whispering something. He listened for a second before asking, "Are you . . . praying?"

　

Justin looked up at him, then back at the girl. "Yes. It's how I can heal them, maybe. I'm sorry, I'm not very good at it yet."

　

Phogrim sighed as some of the anger drained out of him. He reached over and pulled the boy's hand away gently. "You're wasting your time. My spells won't work and neither will yours. This damned cage stops them."

　

Justin pulled his hand back through the bars and whispered something to Kathkin. For once, she did not argue with him and just nodded before running toward the door. She came back a few minutes later, carrying a small clay bowl of water and a strip of linen cloth. Justin tore the cloth in two, then handed it through the bars after wetting them. "Here," he whispered. "Rub it on their faces. It's water from the stream outside. It might make them feel better and help them wake up."

　

Phogrim took it silently and did so, starting with Jof. "Think you can stay sitting up? They have some water," he whispered. When the troll slowly nodded, he pulled him up as gently as he could and leaned him against the wall. He took the skin of water from the gnome and gave the troll a drink. "Just sit tight. I gotta check on our friend."

　

The orc hobbled back over to Belidora and knelt down. He needed to get her to wake up, but he was dreading it. Although she did not look any physically worse for wear than the troll, she had been 'worked on' for nearly twice as long. He pulled her up gently until her back was leaning against his side, then wiped her head and face with the wet cloth. After a few minutes she began to stir. He sighed when she hissed in pain and tried to pull away. "I know, I know," he said quietly. "I need you to stay awake, though. It's just me."

　

She stopped squirming and leaned against him again. Her breathing was shallow and sounded pained. He held her up and got in front of her to have a look at her. She had a frightening, far away stare in her green eyes. He had seem such an expression before in the faces of the Darkspear and orcs that had drawn the ire of Garrosh's Kor'kron when that bastard was in charge. Phogrim grimaced - they had taken some time to recover from whatever the Kor'kron had done to them, and some never really did. He sighed and leaned her against the bars, facing Jof.

　

"Make sure she doesn't fall down," he whispered to the human.

　

Justin nodded and gently grabbed her shoulder, causing her to jump, but she did not pull away. The boy slowly pulled his hand back and stared at it. "She's bleeding," he said shakily.

　

"Uh huh," Phogrim said, a little of his annoyance returning as he tried to coax her to drink from the skin. He was not getting much response. "If you plan on being a paladin, you'll need to get used to the sight of blood."

　

"Her whole back is bleeding, though."

　

Phogrim frowned and gently put a large hand behind the small of her back. It was hot and sticky and wet. He sighed, angry at himself for missing it earlier. It was almost impossible to examine their injuries in the darkness. Not that it really mattered. "Nothing we can do about it," he muttered.

　

"Their wounds need to be disinfected," Kathkin said quietly, finally speaking up. "They'll get sick. Give them that flask, Justin."

　

"That'll hurt, though."

　

"Better than dying of a fever."

 

Justin hesitantly pulled the flask out and handed it through the bars. Phogrim took it and went to work. It took some effort to get them to stay still and quiet once he started, but within a few minutes he had poured the liquor out onto their wounds. It would have to do. He handed the flask back through and let the blood elf lean against him again. It seemed to get her to relax a bit. Jof had grumbled at Phogrim to leave him alone and let him sleep, which was fine with the orc, although it worried him. They were both freezing. The worgen had taken the blankets when they left, the bastards.

　

Kathkin offered the loaf of bread, but Phogrim shook his head at her. "They won't eat, probably, and I'm not going to eat without them."

　

"The Captain did this?" Justin asked sadly. He was sitting just outside the bars, his knees pulled up to his chest.

　

Phogrim sighed. "No, but he didn't stop it, either," he said quietly. "Sometimes our leaders do terrible things, boy. That's another lesson you'll learn."

　

"Maybe . . . maybe you should give them whatever it is they want?" Kathkin said quietly.

　

The orc sighed. "We don't have it," he said helplessly. He looked back down at the ground and thought for a moment, then anger boiled up inside of him. What he had said was true, their leaders did sometimes do horrible things. It looked like this new Warchief was no exception. He would not be surprised if what the Alliance said was true, but she had not warned them of her intentions, and thus they were completely unprepared to deal with the revelation. If she had just told them . . .

　

Phogrim placed one of his large hands on the sin'dorei's clammy forehead and stroked back her hair, frowning when she remained frozen, staring straight ahead. _They're probably not even looking for us,_ he thought darkly. _They've probably given us up for dead._

　

He looked back out the bars at the two Alliance soldiers and stared at them for a long moment. "Why are you being kind to us?" he asked tiredly.

　

Justin glanced at Kathkin, then back at Phogrim. He sighed. "When I began my training, I was taught that I was to protect those who can't protect themselves. If you're prisoners, you can't fight. Besides, you're . . . not really like how I thought the Horde would be, I guess. A lot of people in Stormwind are afraid of you all and hate you, but they don't talk like you're, well, people."

　

"You know, if you hadn't caught us asleep and sick, any of the three of us would have killed you," the orc said, his voice flat and matter of fact. "We've all killed many in our lives."

　

Justin nodded sadly. "I know. That's what the Horde and Alliance do, I guess. That still doesn't mean they should be able to do this to you," he said softly, staring at the two wounded prisoners. "Some things are always wrong to do to someone."

　

Phogrim reached over and put his arm around the huntress leaning against his side. He had felt her slowly go limp, but she was still breathing, a bit more steadily now. She had seemingly either blacked out or fell asleep again. He sighed. "Are your parents still alive?" he asked quietly. When both of them nodded, he smiled gently. "I'm sure they're proud of you. They seemed to have done an okay job."

　

"Are yours?" Kathkin asked quietly.

　

"My mother is. Jof's parents are, too. The girl's aren't, but I guess that's not uncommon with all that's happened to their people," he said quietly. "You should leave. If you get caught in here..."

　

There was talking just outside the door. The two Alliance soldiers leapt to their feet and ran towards the open window along the opposite wall, next to the cell. Justin grabbed Kathkin and dropped her through before jumping through himself. It was not a moment too soon, as the door slammed open and the General stormed in. Justin glanced in, careful to keep his head down, but the woman never looked in his direction. She instead was glaring at the prisoners.

　

Phogrim gripped Belidora a bit tighter and tensed when she got just in front of him. The human spoke, an edge of anger in her voice. "I found this in that little wretch's belongings," she growled, holding out something in her hand. "Where did she get it?"

　

It was the Alliance trinket.

#

Liralina levitated the heavy tome in front of her, opening its pages with the flick of her wrist. She had been up half the night studying in the library of Dalaran. She had missed it dearly - since the Horde had been violently expelled a few years before during the war in Pandaria, she had been completely unable to study except for the volumes that had survived the destruction of Silvermoon many years prior. Since she had been assigned here, tasked with studying all she could about possible ways to counteract fel magic with the arcane, she had spent almost every waking hour reading.

　

It was wonderful. Finally, the Horde was using her talents properly instead of sending her into chaotic, messy battles. Sure, she _could_ fight just as well as anyone, but there were others - orcs and trolls and even lower born blood elves - that could do that for her. No, her intelligence was much better used here.

　

Still, she had to admit to herself that it was a little odd being here after so many of her people had died or been forcefully imprisoned here in an inexcusable act by Jaina Proudmoore. She had felt a little uncomfortable walking the streets alone for the first few days until a Tauren warrior had offered to escort her to the library. She had felt insulted, but after he offered again the next few days she eventually accepted his offer. She had to grudgingly admit that it was a lot less stressful.

　

She reached over and dipped her quill in ink, beginning to write notes on the parchment. She was halfway through the sentence before she sensed someone standing behind her. She rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder.

　

It was a Forsaken, dressed in purple and black robes. He was obviously a mage of some sort, and he had obviously been dead for an extended period before he was risen. His nose was completely gone, as well as most of the flesh around his knuckles. The sin'dorei wrinkled her nose at him, "Can I, um, help you?"

　

"Your name is Liralina, correct?" the undead said, his voice raspy but polite. "Liralina Highstrider?"

　

"Yes."

　

The undead smiled, his lips cracking somewhat. It was always odd to see one of them smile, even if the reanimation mostly halted the decomposition process. "The Warchief herself has taken notice of your work here. Some of your notes and information have been of great use to us in Azsuna. You have served the Horde well, Highstrider."

　

Liralina relaxed slightly and smiled, bowing her head slightly. "I thank you, and tell the Dark Lady that I am happy to help in any way she requires," the sin'dorei stated pleasantly. She turned back toward her book, beginning to write her note once again.

　

The undead paused for a moment and then spoke once again. "That is what I came to ask of you, ma'am. The Dark Lady wishes that you accompany her to Stormheim and take charge of some of her mages. She believes you may be able to help her answer some questions about some . . . things that we have found."

　

Liralina closed her eyes and took a breath, but forced a fake smile before turning around again. "Sir, my work here in Dalaran is very important. If I go down to the Broken Isles, I will have to stop. It will put me far behind schedule."

　

"You may take a few volumes if you wish as long as you copy them first. I already checked with Archmage Khadgar and he said that you may have anything you need to help destroy the Legion. And my lady," the undead said, his voice a bit more serious, "it was not a request. The Warchief will not be denied."

　

The sin'dorei rubbed her face and shook her head slowly. "No, I suppose she will not be. When do we leave?"

　

"We have five days. I will open a portal from Dalaran in the Windrunner Sanctuary so the forces may board the ships with ease. No use everyone having to sail all that way. If you have need to transport a large number of tomes or supplies, find me at the Filthy Animal and I will help you load them ahead of time."

　

"Very well. I will seek you out in five days time," she said, turning back to the tome and staring at it. This was the last thing she wanted to spend her time on right now. There was so much more she could do here.

　

"Ma'am?" the undead said after she stood there a few seconds. When she turned around, he spoke again, "Seek out one of the Kirin Tor mages and have them record your image. It's required to set foot on the Broken Isles."

　

She blinked at him. "Why?"

　

"Sometimes . . . things go wrong, miss. Just please, do go get it done. Just trust me."

#

Tikhuna ran her hand through her wild red hair and walked down the streets of Orgrimmar. The violent Legion attacks on Durotar had all but ceased and an uneasy kind of new normal had taken hold. She glanced over at Grommash Hold as she passed. The new Warchief preferred her home in Undercity, so the throne room had become the command center of the orcs, led by High Overlord Saurfang. She liked the old, grizzled warrior, but it still was not the same. She missed Vol'jin terribly.

　

She sighed and walked to the inn. It had been a few days since she had been asked - well, forced - to go on leave from the campaign in Azsuna. There were many demons to slay there, and she had even met the odd new members of the Horde. They looked like the blood elves, and she had learned that they were some of them, in a way, but they had monstrous wings growing out their backs. They looked as much like normal elves as that bastard Gul'dan looked like an orc.

　

At first the troll huntress had disliked them. They seemed to be as haughty as any other sin'dorei, and she could feel the fel magic flowing through them. Further, they followed Illidan and called themselves Illidari, whom she had only heard people speak of as the Betrayer. As she worked with them more, though, she began to at least respect them. They seemed to hate the Legion as much as she did, and they were incredibly powerful. Maybe they would be useful in the war after all.

　

She walked into the inn across from Grommash Hold. It was not as crowded as usual, since it was still early in the day, but there were a few orcs sitting around playing some sort of game with cards at one of the tables. She smiled slightly and walked to the bar, where the older orc bartender was cleaning out a mug.

　

"What can I do for you, miss?" he asked.

　

"Do ju have some mead?" she asked.

　

He nodded and poured her a mug, sliding it over and collecting her coins. He turned away and continued to clean. She had seen him once or twice. He seemed like he was a nice man, but he looked exhausted now. "Ju okay, sir?"

　

"Yes. It's just been a stressful time in Orgrimmar," he started, then glanced over his shoulder as there was a loud crash coming behind her. "Hey! No fighting in here!"

　

Sure enough, the card game had erupted into fisticuffs between two of the inebriated orcs, with the wooden table slamming to the ground in the process. The bartender growled and limped out from behind the bar. He did not move quickly and obviously had a bad leg, but when he got to the two, he gripped them each by an arm, easily twisting their limbs behind them. "I said no fighting in my tavern!" he snapped in Orcish.

　

Tikhuna watched with amusement as the barkeep marched the two out into the hot Durotar afternoon. He was their elder by at least a decade or two, but he handled them like a warrior in his prime. Their friends followed them out, evidently deciding that the fun was over for that day in the tavern. She watched as the orc limped back inside and smiled at her, a bit sheepishly. "Sorry about that, miss. They know the rules."

　

"It be fine," she laughed. "I think it be funny. Who you be?"

　

"I go by Mork," he said, extending a hand.

　

She shook it. "Tikhuna."

　

"Well met," he said, smiling.

　

Mork limped back behind the bar and pulled up a stool, taking a seat. They were alone then, and he evidently did not want to have to stand on his leg for longer than necessary. He poured himself a glass of water. "I haven't seen you in here before. Do you come to Orgrimmar often?"

　

"I used to. I haven't been here since Vol'jin's funeral," she said quietly. "Went back to da Echo Isles dat night, with some of my mons. Guess I shoulda stayed. Heard ju had some difficulties."

　

He frowned and nodded. "Yes. We took a lot more casualties that night and in the weeks after. Too many good fighters died," he said quietly. "The loss of the Warchief was a terrible tragedy, as well. He was a good troll and an honorable leader. Did you know him well?"

　

She closed her eyes and nodded, but did not elaborate. When she opened them again, the older orc was smiling gently. "This war has taken a great toll on all of us, girl," he said. "Hopefully it will be over soon, and we can try to go back to some sort of peace."

　

Tikhuna frowned at him and sighed. "Hopefully we destroy da devils. Dere be no place for dem in dis world, in dis universe," she said quietly but angrily. She glanced over at the bulletin board hanging beside the bar. There was a map of Orgrimmar on it, as well as of the Broken Isles and Azeroth as a whole. It was also covered with fliers.

　

"Are you part of the campaign on the Broken Isles?" Mork asked. When he got a nod in response, he pointed at the board. "There are some odd jobs that the leaders want volunteers for. Maybe you can find some worthy demons to slay for the bounty?"

　

She smiled at him slightly. She liked the way the barkeep thought. She got up and walked over, still holding the mug of mead in her hand, and started reading them. There were so many to do, but she had been told that she was allowed to change her assignment if she wished. The campaign in Azsuna was slowing down somewhat and they were whittling down the numbers of forces they were having stay there. Might as well figure out where to go next.

　

Tikhuna perused the fliers for a few minutes, looking over the foul looking demons on the bounty posters and the requests for materials until she got near the bottom corner of the board. She stopped and stared at it, then reached down and pulled it off the board. That elf looked so familiar, especially as she looked closer and noticed the scar running across her forehead. As she looked at the other two, she realized that she recognized the orc as well. It was that shaman. The troll only seemed vaguely familiar, but he was obviously one of her tribe. She was sure she had seen him in Sen'jin Village once or twice.

　

"Oh no," she said quietly.

　

Mork was evidently not paying attention to her, simply resting his head on one of his large hands. He glanced over at her and put his hand out to see what she was holding. He glanced at it and sighed, handing it back. "Yeah, I know. Poor kids. They didn't deserve that. You know them?"

　

"Da girl and I, we ride back from da Broken Shore togethah," she said quietly, sitting back on the stool and looking at the flier, her brow creased. "She okay, for an elf. Most of dem hate us. She be nice ta me, even though she be scared and hurt. Da orc, he be a good healer too. He tried ta help Vol'jin. What happen to dem?"

　

Tikhuna sat there in silence as Mork slowly explained the same story that the Tauren had told him. When he was done, the troll sighed. "Dey not be lookin' for dem?"

　

Mork frowned. "I'm sure they'll keep an eye out for them, but people die all the time in war, girl. Sometimes we never find the bodies. And sometimes they're not dead, but . . . they're probably dead," he said quietly. His tone changed at the last part of his sentence and she knew what he was about to say. It was not a possibility that she liked either.

　

She looked down at the flier and folded it in half, sticking it in her pack. "I find dem, then," she said. "Dere be plenty ta do in Stormheim, and it look like dere be demons to slay. Dey good people. Dey deserve to have someone who care enough to look for dem." She paused, looking up at him. "Ju want to come wit' me?"

　

Mork blinked, the surprise evident on his face. "Me? I'm no warrior, girl. Not anymore. I can barely walk," he sputtered. "I'll only get in the way."

　

"Ju used ta be a warrior, though? I be needin' help. Ju know dem, yes?"

　

He sighed. "There'd be nothing I would like more than to help those kids, but I can't. I took a mace to the shin during the Third War. I haven't been in a battle since then," he said painfully. "What could I possibly do to help? I would slow you down."

　

"Dey be needin' a cook at da camp dey about to build," she said, getting frustrated. "Ju might be able ta explain some t'ings 'bout dis Legion, help me find t'ings or figure out where dey be. Ju have experience dat I be needin'." She stood up. "Ju don't need to be stayin' long, jus' 'til we find dem. Don't ju want some revenge for da lives da bastards stole?"

　

Mork leaned back a bit and stared at the wooden bar top. "I guess . . . I guess I could get my mate to watch the tavern for a week or two," he muttered. "By the ancestors, she's going to be angry. But . . . you're right. I can't just sit here anymore and watch the young ones go off to die."

　

Tikhuna smiled. "I knew ju would. We meet here tomorrow, mon, ta take a portal ta Dalaran?"

　

The orc closed his eyes and rubbed his face, but nodded slowly. "Yes. That sounds . . . like a great idea."


	4. Chapter 4

  
_Author's Note: World of Warcraft: Legion, associated characters, settings, and other miscellaneous information are copywrite Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission or profit._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

　

Mork Frosthorn rubbed his neck as he put up the last of the mugs and wrote instructions for his wife. He was absolutely certain that she was going to be livid at him, but at this point he could no longer back out of the deal. He set the pen and ink down and then walked out into the dark Orgrimmar streets. They were busy, as things had at least somewhat returned to normal. He limped a bit slowly. His leg no longer pained him, but it was uncomfortable and did not bend at the knee correctly.

　

He stopped by the blacksmith on his way home, somewhat surprised to see him still open. The large orc was hammering away at something and Mork knocked on the edge of the shack.

　

"What can I do for you?" the blacksmith called over his shoulder.

　

"Do you have any training swords?"

　

The blacksmith pointed with his hammer at a stack of them in the corner. "Take one. On the house."

　

Mork looked at him. "Really? Are you certain?"

　

"Yes," he said, going back to hammering out the blade he was working on. "Need to train the next generation. There will be many battles in our future. Hopefully we have a future."

　

Mork grimaced and picked one up that seemed to be large enough for his boy. He should have been training him since he was even younger than he was now, but he had unfortunately waited long enough to have kids that such a thing was not as easy anymore. He examined it, making sure it was not sharpened in error, and held it by his side. "Do you have a proper sword as well? I would like to have one for when he completes his training so I can give it to him." _His first true sword._

　

The blacksmith stopped hammering and plunged the red hot sword into the water next to his forge. He walked over to a rack on the wall and looked around, then pulled a sword off of it. It was fine steel, its hilt red and black metal, the colors of the Horde. He lay it on the counter. "A fine short sword for a young warrior. One hundred gold."

　

Mork frowned at the steep price, but reached into his coin purse and handed it over. It may be the last gift he would be able to give his son, after all. He picked the sword up and examined it, then thanked the blacksmith and departed.

　

It took nearly a half hour to walk across Orgrimmar to get to his house. Of course, he did not hurry, either, instead stopping to pick up a small toy vehicle from the goblin who hocked his wares on the Drag. When he finally reached his home, he walked in tiredly and smiled at his wife, who was trying to corral their twins, a boy and a girl. They were fighting, again.

　

His daughter, Satar, let go of her brother’s ear and ran up to him. "Papa!" she said happily. He reached down and touched the top of her head, smiling down at her.

　

"I got you something," he said, handing her the toy. She squealed and grabbed it, running to her room in the small house, yelling a taunt back at her brother that she got a toy. Mork knew that she would have it torn apart in a day or so, trying to figure out how it worked. She was as good of a novice engineer as any young goblin. Maybe when she grew up she could do something to make the zeppelins halfway reliable.

　

He looked over at his son, Sarom, frowned at his sister’s retreating form, then looked back at his father. "Where’s my toy?"

　

Mork’s wife, a proud woman by the name of Keryja, snapped at the boy, "Do not demand toys from your father. He works all day to provide for you. He will give you gifts when he deems fit."

　

Mork sighed and walked over. "Your sister needs to work on her own skills, but you said you wish to be a warrior," he said, pulling the training sword out from behind his back and handing it to the wide eyed young orc. "Go to the warrior trainer tomorrow and have him show you how to use this. When he thinks you are ready, I will give you a real one, understood?"

　

Sarom smiled widely, much more excited than even his sister had been. "Thank you!"

　

Mork watched him run off to his room, probably to play with the training sword and undoubtedly break something. He looked over at his wife, who was watching him, her arms crossed. "They acted like little imps today. You should not have given them anything."

　

He flexed his shoulders back. "It’s about time they begin training," he said. "I was half Sarom’s age when I held my first sword. First _real_ sword."

　

"It was a much different Horde then."

　

"The world is not getting any kinder, Keryja," he said sadly, walking over to above the mantle place. His axe was mounted up there, along with Keryja’s staff. It had been so many years since either of them had used them - long before the twins were born, that was for certain. He set his jaw and reached up, grabbing onto his axe.

　

The next thing he heard was something he had expected and dreaded since he had accepted the troll girl’s offer. "What do you think you’re doing?"

　

"I’ve been . . .called to the Broken Isles," he said, not looking at her, and pulled the axe from the wall. It was much heavier than he remembered. "I leave tomorrow."

　

"They called _you_?" she blurted out. "Oh no. No, you are not going there. Don’t you remember what happened last time the demons came? You could have lost your leg!"

　

He finally turned around. "I know that," he said patiently. "I’m just there in an . . . advisory role. And support. I’ll be cooking and managing supplies in one of the bases of operation. I don’t think I will even be there long."

　

"You are going to get yourself killed. You have not fought in years."

　

"If I do die, then it will be an honorable death in battle. A glorious one, perhaps. There is not anything that-" he started, until she slapped him hard across the face. He winced and looked at her, rubbing his cheek.

　

"You will _not_ leave me to raise these hellions alone, do you understand me?"

　

Mork looked at her and sighed. He set his axe down on the table and hugged her. "I do it for them, and for you," he said quietly, looking her in the eye. "And for all those other young warriors who are dying out there every day. I can’t just stay here in the safety of Orgrimmar."

　

He expected her to praise him. Well, maybe not praise him, but at least show some approval. Instead, she stuck a clawed finger at the tip of his nose, causing him to wince at its sharpness. "Don’t you _dare_ get yourself killed for some foolish purpose. If you die, it better be for something that seals up that damned tomb or saves some lives. Nothing for someone else’s useless glory."

　

Mork watched her, and noticed that she seemed more upset as she spoke. He smiled at her and gave her a kiss. "That I can promise you, my love."

　

##########

　

Mikal rubbed his eyes and took a drink of his whiskey. He rarely drank while in an encampment, but it had been a stressful several days since General Lemley had arrived. He had been avoiding her as much as possible. He had tried to argue to her that her "methods" would only make the three prisoners lie to get her to stop, but she had ignored him. He had long since decided that he did not really want to hear of any . . . intel she gathered using such methods.

　

Lieutenant Llenrus Wildstar sat across from him, drinking some tea. "I don’t think the General has found out a damn thing from those three, sir," he said.

　

Mikal sighed. "No. I didn’t think she would. I honestly don’t think the Warchief of the Horde is sharing her plans with every single soldier under her command," he muttered, setting his glass down. "I was going to let them go in a few days. Confiscate their weapons and push them through a portal to Dalaran to get them out of Stormheim. Now I can’t really do that, because what do you think the Horde’s reaction is going to be when we send them three of their soldiers in that condition?"

　

"I doubt the Horde would treat their own prisoners any better," the night elf replied.

　

"They might have. They’re not beasts or monsters, or at least most of them aren’t," Mikal argued. "They’re not going to treat them with mercy now, not if this gets out. We’re not even at war with them. We’re supposed to be fighting that massive demon army."

　

"Plenty of our people would like to be," Llenrus replied, pouring himself some more tea. "They betrayed us upon the Broken Shore, got High King Wrynn killed. Now they follow the Banshee Queen."

　

"I’m not even sure about that anymore," Mikal muttered.

　

"I’m fairly sure that Sylvanas is the Warchief…"

　

"No, not that part. The betrayal," he said, but did not elaborate. He remembered the looks on their faces when he had asked them about the Broken Shore and if they had been part of the assault. He thought of the looks of slight guilt on their faces, and how it had quickly turned to anger and agitation when he accused the Horde of treachery.

　

He had been surprised by their reaction until the girl had said quietly, "You have no idea what happened up there, do you?"

　

Blackwater wished he had questioned them further about it. He was not sure they would tell him what happened, or if what they would say was the truth, but all three of them seemed to be bad liars. He suspected their shock and anger at being basically called traitors was genuine, and it was the surprise that seemed to be more prominent. Something _must_ have happened up there. He could have found out what it was back then, but now it was unlikely they would even speak to him.

　

Blackwater picked up the glass again and took another sip. "I wonder how it even got out that they were here?" he muttered.

　

"Well, it must have come in Dalaran. We’ve sent no one back to any other city since we got here," Llenrus said. "Who did you send last?"

　

Blackwater leaned back and thought, running through the roster of his soldiers in his mind. After a few moments he opened his eyes up again, sighing, "Of course…" He sat back up and got out of his chair. "Let’s go deal with our informant here and now."

　

They found Sergeant Hrolf Driscoll leaning back in his chair in the small building that served as an inn for Alliance troops coming to resupply the camp or messengers. Of course, it was the one place where most of the liquor was stored, and was thus a favorite hang out spot for the soldiers when they were trying to dodge work. Mikal walked up behind him and looked at his face. When he saw that his eyes were closed, he reached over and grabbed the side of the chair, pushing it down until it was off balance and sending the worgen crashing to the ground onto his back.

　

"Ow!" the worgen growled, holding his head. He looked up until he saw the Captain looking down at him dully.

　

"I told you not to lean back in your chair. Hate to have to send you to the Dalaran Infirmary," the man said bluntly. "Speaking of which, you never told me how your last trip went."

　

"It went fine, sir," Hrolf grumbled, looking at his hand and checking for blood. "Picked up the supplies and came back."

　

"Oh? Did you do anything . . . special while you were there?"

　

Hrolf sat up and looked at the man. "Maybe."

　

Mikal frowned at him. That was as close to a confession as he was likely to get. "You know damn well you were to keep their existence a secret, Sergeant."

　

"They needed to find out where they were looking for the val’kyr, _sir_ ," Hrolf snapped back. "We can’t let that bitch have them."

　

"Those three weren’t and you know it," Mikal snapped back at him. "They didn’t even have a good grasp at what was going on in their own camp! They’re a bunch of kids, you idiot."

　

Hrolf growled and got to his feet. In his worgen form, he towered over his commander, but the man did not back away from him. Instead, the officer slowly moved his hand to rest on the sword on his belt. The worgen narrowed his eyes. "I was asked if anyone could possibly answer questions about the Horde’s involvement in Stormheim and I answered. Lord Greymane himself needs that information. Besides, what does it matter what happens to those vermin? If the General kills them, it will probably save Alliance lives in the long run."

　

Blackwater sighed at him and walked toward the door of the makeshift inn. "You should not call your enemies vermin, Sergeant. After all, they managed to evade us quite skillfully for quite some time. Seem to be fairly smart," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "If anything, your people should know what it’s like to be viewed as . . . less than human. We’ll discuss this more later."

　

He walked out of the building. He wanted to deal out the punishment then and there, but the General might have objected to it. He would have to wait. At least it gave him time to think of an appropriate one. He glanced over at the prison when he walked past it. He had ordered his men to stay away from it unless they were bringing food to the prisoners, and only on his command then. What they were doing was cruel enough - he would not have the prisoners humiliated by letting their enemies watch their torture.

　

He saw the door open to the building and stopped. Llenrus stopped beside him, crossing his arms. The General and the two worgen stepped out before closing the door. One of the worgen had a knife that he was wiping off on a cloth, but Mikal simply looked away, trying not to think of it too much.

　

"Captain," General Lemley called out.

　

He winced. He really did not want to speak to her. "Yes ma’am?" he said, forcing a polite tone.

　

"I have something to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?"

　

"Yes, of course," he said, giving her a fake smile. "My command room is always open, ma’am." When she and the worgen walked past, he gave a glance to the night elf and rubbed his forehead. This was not going to be fun.

　

The man and the kal’dorei followed the General back to the command post. Once they were inside, she turned to the worgen. "Leave us. I wish to discuss something with the Captain in private." Mikal looked back at Llenrus and nodded his head. When the worgen and night elf had gone, General Lemley continued, "We have received word that the Forsaken fleet is preparing to sail for Stormheim. They will be here any day now."

　

Blackwater walked behind his desk and sat down heavily in his chair. "Is our fleet preparing to make the journey as well?"

　

"Yes. They should arrive at around the same time. Lord Greymane is commanding the Alliance fleet, and there are rumors that the Warchief herself is accompanying the Horde fleet."

　

_Well, that should be fun,_ Blackwater thought, picking up his pen and twirling it in his fingers. "May I ask a question, ma’am?"

　

"Of course."

　

"Did you find out anything from the prisoners? About the val’kyr?"

　

The woman’s face darkened. "No. We were discussing . . . other things, last time we interrogated them."

　

Mikal drummed the pen on his desk. He was not sure if it was the frustration or the alcohol that compelled him to speak next, but he did so all the same. "Permission to speak freely, ma’am." When she nodded, he continued. "Then it appears I was correct. They know nothing about the val’kyr. I know you need not listen to me, but I would counsel you to stop what you’ve been doing. It’s a waste of time."

　

Lemley crossed her arms and turned away. "They’re stubborn." Her voice dripped with anger and aggravation, but it seemed to be more directed at the topic at hand and not Mikal’s insubordination. That was a good thing.

　

"Ma’am, I would hazard they either know nothing or they are far braver than our own troops would be, given the condition I’ve heard they’re in," he said, staring down at his desk. "I’m going to guess the former."

　

She looked over at him again. "We will execute them tomorrow," she said bluntly. "Get rid of the evidence they were ever here."

　

Blackwater gritted his teeth and looked down at his desk again. He remembered the prisoners’ anger the last time he had seen them. He _had_ broken his promise to them to keep them from being hurt while they were his captives. He had to at least try to keep his other promise. He looked back up at the General with sad gray eyes, dreading her wrath. "Ma’am?"

　

"What?"

　

"I think we’ve committed enough war crimes here," he said quietly. When she glared at him, he quickly continued, "Surely they are still more useful alive than they are dead."

　

"You said it yourself. They don’t know anything useful."

　

"Perhaps not…" he muttered, looking around. He hated what he was about to say, but it was the only thing he could think of. "However, not long after we discovered the Horde camp destroyed, we saw bats scouting the island from the sky. Perhaps they were looking for those three?"

　

"And?"

　

"We have a lot to do in Stormheim, including finding these . . . Val’kyr before the Banshee Queen does. We could send word to whatever commander they put in charge of their landing site, inform him that we are holding," he paused, despising the word, "hostages. It may delay them from harassing us in our work."

　

Lemley turned to face him and laughed. It was not the reaction he was hoping for. "Please, Captain. These monsters aren’t going to negotiate to save the lives of their comrades. The Horde does not value life the way we do."

　

He sighed. "I don’t know about that. The three we have seem to care about each other’s well being. From what I’ve been told, it’s a trait you’ve . . . used to great effect in your interrogations," he said quietly, careful to keep the disgust out of his own voice, instead forcing it to sound like a compliment.

　

She stared at him for a long time, and he fully expected her to simply ignore his counsel and go forward with the execution. He looked down again. He felt that he should probably go that night and bring them food himself, a good warm meal. He would give them some alcohol to dull the pain of their injuries as well, so they could have peaceful final night. It was the least he could do.

　

Mikal was surprised when she spoke again. "That sounds like an excellent idea," Lemley said, although something in her voice made him quite uncomfortable.

　

He sighed, both from relief and regret. He hated the thought of using hostages. It felt so _wrong_ to barter with lives as if they were weapons or supplies. _It’s the only way to keep them alive and keep your promise_ , he told himself.

　

The General spoke again, and he was startled slightly to notice that she was just in front of him. He must have been too lost in his thoughts. "We should have a healer visit them, make sure they stay alive until we can get what we want. Do you have a priest or paladin here?" she asked.

　

"The priest left with a few of our troops to Dalaran Infirmary a few hours back. Took a nasty spill off of a ridge," he said quietly, thinking, then closed his eyes. "I have a paladin, but he’s quite . . . inexperienced. I’m sure he can manage some healing spells, though, and would be . . . happy to help. He’s helping to feed the horses right now, or should be."

　

"What’s his name?"

　

"Justin Crawford. Skinny kid, light brown hair. Nineteen years old," he said quietly. She thanked him and walked away, and he watched her go, frowning when she left. He had hoped to spare the boy this side of war, but it was a lesson he would have to learn eventually.

　

##########

　

Justin carried the bucket of water over to the horses so they could get a drink. He had been given the day off from patrol duty, so he was trying his best to make himself useful in camp. Besides, the more he could get odd jobs on the other side of camp, the more it would take his mind off of what he had seen and heard in the prison. Kathkin had been right - they should have gone back to the barracks when that General had shown up. He had foolishly stayed and tried to listen in, wanting to know what it was that the woman thought the prisoners knew.

　

The orc had been brave and defiant, at least until they threatened to put a sword through one of his friends’ hearts. Justin had left before he found out if he had answered the woman’s question. The memory of the pleading and fear in the orc’s voice would stay with the paladin for quite some time.

　

He set the bucket down and brushed off his hands when he heard a female voice calling to him. "Private Crawford?" Justin turned to see the General and narrowed his eyes slightly, but quickly thought better of it.

　

"Yes ma’am?"

　

"You are a healer, correct?"

　

He rubbed his dirty hands off on his pants and looked at them, mostly to give himself a reason to break eye contact. "Yes ma’am. I know some spells from my training. Not a whole lot. Is someone hurt?"

　

There appeared to be no urgency in her manner as she got closer. "I’m sorry to ask you to deal with such unpleasant work, paladin, but I need someone to heal the Horde prisoners. You need not expend too much energy. We just need to make sure they stay alive."

　

Justin looked at her. He knew he could not refuse her order, although he had no desire to aid the General and her men in their ‘work.’ He thought about it for a moment and nodded. "Of course, ma’am. Whatever you need me to do," he said, his voice flat. Sure, he did not wish to aid her, but perhaps he could find a way to relieve their pain, at least for a little while.

　

He walked in silence, following a few paces behind her. She called to a couple of worgen that he recognized from that night a few days ago. He learned their names were Barclay and Clive. He had decided that he despised them as well that night, but he was careful to only briefly acknowledge them as they approached. He stared down at the ground and spoke, "May I ask a question, ma’am?"

　

"Of course, Private."

　

"Why are you needing me to heal them?" he asked quietly.

　

He was hoping she would admit to him what they had done, but she seemingly missed his point or ignored it. "We are going to use them as . . . insurance. The main part of the Forsaken fleet sails for Stormheim and will be here any day. We will send word to them, tell them that we hold their soldiers captive, and tell them they are not to harass this camp unless they want something . . . unpleasant to befall them." She crossed her arms. "I assume they will ignore our warning, but that’s fine. It will teach some of the, well, still living members of the Horde how much this new Warchief truly values their lives."

　

The General opened the door and led the way inside. Justin walked past her and looked at the three. They were in much worse shape than when he said seen them last. They were either unconscious or sleeping in the far corner of the cell, seemingly trying to get as far away from the bars as they could. The only one who did not look to be at death’s door was the troll, and he had learned during his training that their race had some sort of way to heal themselves. He sighed.

　

Justin heard the General whisper something to the two worgen as he walked to the door of the cell, waiting to be let in. When the door opened, the sin’dorei, who had been curled up next to the troll, slowly stirred and partially sat up. The other two remained still on the ground.

　

Justin saw her look at him slowly and saw the recognition flash across her face, followed by bewilderment. He suddenly felt himself gripped by fear - what if she begged for his help, blurted out his name in her confusion? He gritted his teeth and waited, but she never did.

　

Instead, she tried to back away from the worgen who had pushed past him. The man grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bars, shoving her back into them. His partner, who had been standing outside of the cell, reached through the bars and grabbed her by the collar of her torn shirt with one hand, pressing a knife to her throat with the other.

　

The boy scowled and turned to the General, "Ma’am, that’s not necessary." He was careful to keep his tone polite. "They’re in chains already. I can handle them."

　

"We have to turn off the magic suppressing abilities of the cell," she explained. "Those other two will start sending fireballs at all four of us as soon as they have the chance. This one, however, does not seem to command any magic. She is our assurance that they will not try anything foolish."

　

Justin gritted his teeth and walked over to where the sin’dorei was seated, pinned against the bars. He knelt down in front of her and put a hand on her forehead. She was burning up and shivering. He was about to speak to the others to turn off the enchantment when the prisoner spoke quietly, "Wh-what are you doing?"

　

He was about to answer her when the General spoke. "He’s going to heal you, girl. You should be grateful."

　

Justin sighed when she stared down at the ground in front of her, not looking at him. When she spoke again, it was directed at the General, and there was a bit of bitterness in her voice, "So you can torture us more?"

　

"Perhaps," the General replied, an edge to her voice. "Or perhaps I wish to find out if your leaders value your worthless lives. Now be quiet, girl, before I change my mind about healing you."

　

Justin shot a quick look at the General, but she did not seem to notice it. He kept his hand on the girl’s feverish forehead. He glanced up when the blue glow of the bars suddenly faded, showing only the steel underneath. He immediately started praying under his breath, trying to concentrate. He had only done this once or twice before, and only on very minor injuries, nothing like the cuts, burns, and bruises covering the prisoners. For a moment, he thought it may not work, that he was too stressed, but slowly he felt the warmth of the Light flow through him and into her.

　

He knew the spell would not really heal their wounds, but at least it would get the process started. It would deaden the pain and stop the bleeding, preventing them from getting worse. The girl was holding onto the worgen’s arm that held the knife with her shackled hands, evidently trying to pull it away as much as possible. Justin reached over and touched her shoulder with his free hand, giving it a slight squeeze. She looked up at him slowly as the Light faded. "Thank you," she mouthed silently and he gave a discreet nod, although he did not feel like he was helping them at all.

　

He got up and walked over to the troll next, doing the same prayer for him. He frowned as the troll slowly opened his eyes and seemed to notice that the bars had been deactivated. He glanced down and saw the orange beginning to form in his hand. "Don’t," Justin hissed, careful to block the view of the troll’s hand from the others.

　

Jof stared at him, the spell still ready to fire, until Justin motioned slowly with his head back toward the worgen and the blood elf. The troll looked over at the scene and growled, but let the energy dissipate from his fingers. He slowly sat up and looked at Belidora, who had given up trying to pull the knife away and had her shackled hands resting in her lap. "Ju okay, girl?" he asked quietly.

　

"Yeah," she replied in a shaking voice. The young huntress was obviously trying to mask it, but the fear was evident in her eyes.

　

Jof smiled weakly in what Justin was sure was an effort to reassure his friend. The paladin moved onto the orc, who thankfully did not try the same thing as the troll did. Instead he simply sat up and looked worriedly at the other two prisoners. He was so protective of them both. Justin suddenly remembered that the orc was a healer as well, although he called on completely different forces to do his work. Seeing his comrades hurt and not being able to do anything must be hell for the orc.

　

The worgen named Clive tapped Justin on his shoulder. "You done, kid?" he asked in his odd accent. Justin stared at the two male prisoners, who gave him slightly concerned looks, but he nodded.

　

"Yeah. I’m done."

　

He got up and followed the worgen out. As soon as the cell door slammed shut, the blue glow on the bars returned. Belidora tried to pull away slightly, expecting to be let go, but the worgen jerked her back against the bars, pressing the knife tighter to her throat so she could not move at all.

　

Justin frowned at that, then turned when the General began speaking, "Your Warchief and her army of walking corpses is about to sail for Stormheim."

　

He could not see the girl’s expression since she was facing away from him, but he could see the other two prisoners. They did not seem to react with much emotion to the news and instead just stared at the General. It was obvious they wanted to say something, but they remained silent. They would glance over at their friend nervously every few seconds.

　

The General continued to speak, as if she did not much care whether they responded or not, "As far as we can tell, it is the first time that bitch has set foot on the Broken Isles since your betrayal at the Broken Shore." Justin kept his eyes on the two prisoners and noticed them narrow their eyes, but they still did not say anything.

　

"So, you three obviously lied," she continued. "She _is_ looking for the val’kyr. After all, there seems to be nothing more interesting here than there are in any of the other regions. Other than that, I mean." She turned and spoke to the worgen who was still holding the young sin’dorei. "Barclay, show them how we punish dishonesty."

　

Justin turned his head quickly and stared. He could not tell exactly what was going on, but Barclay moved his hand from the girl’s shirt collar to wrap his arm around her throat, holding her still. The worgen brought the knife up to her face and she immediately began struggling, followed by terrible cries. Justin gritted his teeth and glanced over at the other two prisoners. They were staring, angry and horrified looks on their faces, then looked away, seemingly not wanting to watch anymore.

　

_You can’t let this continue_ , a voice screamed in Justin’s head. _This is evil. If you allow it to happen unabated, the Light itself will forsake you._

He swallowed and jumped onto the worgen’s back, grabbing the arm holding the knife and trying to wrench it away. Barclay was much stronger than he was, but he was also taken by surprise. "Let go, whelp!" he snapped over his shoulder, but Justin managed to pull the knife away from the girl. After several seconds of struggling, Barclay growled and let her go completely, instead turning and striking the boy across the face with the hand that held the knife, opening a deep gash in his cheek.

　

The young paladin was knocked onto his back by the blow. When he opened his eyes, the General was glaring down at him. "You dare interfere?" she snapped.

　

He glanced over at the prisoners. The troll had evidently pulled the girl away from the bars and was holding her. She was clutching her face and there was blood seeping out of her fingers. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry," she whimpered.

　

"It’s okay, it’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong," the orc was saying, trying to pull her hands away. "Let me see your eye. I need to see it. Calm down."

　

"Don’t touch me! You can’t fix it!"

　

Justin closed his eyes again before looking back up at the General. "I just healed them, ma’am. You said you were going to try to ransom them back to their leaders!" he yelled, sitting up. "Not torture them again!"

　

"They need to be taught a lesson," she said, motioning to the two worgen, who grabbed his arms and lifted him to his feet. "It looks like you need to be taught one as well. Come on."

　

The young paladin looked over his shoulder at the orc and troll as he was ‘escorted’ out. The orc was busy trying to deal with his panicking friend, but the troll watched them leave, still holding onto her. He looked as if he were about to say something, but then seemingly thought better of it. There was an odd look on his face, though.

　

He looked grateful.

　

Justin had enough sense not to struggle with the worgen - he was in enough trouble as it was. Instead, he simply walked along peacefully until they got to their destination. He was only slightly relieved to find himself being led into the Captain’s quarters.

　

Blackwater was seated at his table, speaking with Wildstar again. "I know it’s a terrible idea, but it was the only option . . . Oh, hello, General," he said quickly, standing up and saluting.

　

She did not return his salute. "This idiot you volunteered attacked one of my men," she snapped, pointing at the boy.

　

The Captain slowly dropped the salute when he realized she was not going to return it. He looked over at Justin and sighed, sitting back down and rubbing his face. The woman spoke again. "I want him punished. You’re his direct commander. You deal with it."

　

"Yes, of course. Thank you for informing me of this . . . Incident, ma’am."

　

Justin felt the two worgen release his arms and watched as they stormed off. He turned back toward the Captain and Lieutenant and stared at the ground. The night elf started to get up to leave, but the Captain waved for him to stay. There was silence for several seconds until Blackwater spoke, "This is the second time in about ten days that I have had some sort of disciplinary issue with you, Private."

　

"Yes sir."

　

"Heal yourself. You’re getting blood on my rug," the Captain said bluntly. Justin blinked and rubbed the cut on his cheek, suddenly remembering it. He concentrated on stopping the bleeding as the Captain continued to speak. "Is what the General said true? Did you attack a fellow soldier?"

　

"Yes sir."

　

"Why?"

　

"I wanted to stop what he was doing, sir."

　

"And what was that?"

　

"He was torturing one of the prisoners. I think he cut her eye out…"

　

Blackwater must have been drinking something, because when Justin looked up he was choking slightly as if it went down the wrong hole. He stared at the boy with a shocked expression on his face, which quickly changed to frustration. He whispered something to the Lieutenant, who immediately left.

　

The man buried his face in his hands for a long while before muttering, "Sit down, Private." When the boy had done so, he continued, "Tell me from the beginning what happened…"

　

Justin did. He started from the moment the General had called him until the point where he was now. Throughout the story, Blackwater simply stared at him with a blank expression. When the younger soldier finished, he sighed and got up, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out a clay jug. "Do you drink, Private?"

　

"No sir. I just came of age and I haven’t really . . . Developed a taste for it yet."

　

"Give it time," the older soldier mumbled, but poured himself a glass and came back over, sitting down. He stared at the young paladin for a long time, long enough to make Justin feel uncomfortable and look at the ground again. "Tell me, before I decide what to do with you . . . Are you sorry for what you did?"

　

Justin fidgeted uncomfortably until the Captain spoke again, "Private, I need an answer."

　

The boy gritted his teeth and looked up at his commander. "No sir. I’m not. I couldn’t break my oath."

　

Blackwater rested his head on his hand and studied the boy for a long time more before speaking again. "Good," he said simply. "You shouldn’t feel bad for what you did, although that scar on your face should teach you to approach it with a little more . . . Subtlety next time." The officer leaned back slightly, putting his hands behind his head. "Still, the General insists that you face some punishment. Have you grown attached to our Horde guests, Crawford?"

　

Justin frowned slightly and looked back down. "They’re just prisoners. I barely know them," he said, which was only half true, of course. "But they’re people. We wouldn’t even treat animals that way."

　

"I’m putting you in charge of their care, then. Keep them alive and as healthy as possible. Bring them food, medicine, blankets, anything that they are allowed to have," he said. "If the General truly wishes to use them as bargaining chips, they will be useless dead. They are your enemies, but at least I know I can trust you to see to it that they stay alive. That’s not something I can say for . . . Everyone here."

　

He leaned forward again. "Hopefully they will remember your aid and not cause you trouble, but I suggest you bring help until you can be sure of that."

　

##########

　

Llenrus walked into the prison, flanked by three other soldiers, all humans. He looked into the cell as he entered. The troll was kneeling down next to the blood elf, whispering something to her. She was lying on her side, facing the corner of the cell and shaking like an autumn leaf. He frowned as the orc and troll spun around and stared at him. The night elf walked to the cell door. "I’m here to help," he said patiently. "Stay back."

　

He opened the door with his spare set of keys, walking inside. The other soldiers stayed just outside the cell, as he had ordered them to do. They would be able to aid him if he needed it, but them coming in would only heighten tensions. He started approaching the three when the orc snarled at him, "Stay away from us." He ignored him and got closer to the troll and blood elf, which seemed to only make the orc more angry. "If you touch her, I will rip your throat out."

　

Llenrus looked over at him and reached into his pack, pulling out the white cloth inside. "Bandages. If you don’t let me treat her, she may die of infection. I’m not going to hurt any of you."

　

The orc snarled at him, but did not move any closer. The troll simply looked back at the conversation, then bent over the sin’dorei, whispering something to her. He pulled on her shoulder gently to try to get her to turn over, but she pulled away.

　

Llenrus knelt down next to them. "Get her to sit up if you can," he said quietly. The troll stared at him for a moment but nodded, grabbing onto her and gently pulling her into a sitting position. She tried to pull away from him again, but he held on tight enough to keep her restrained. She was still trying to cover her face with her shackled hands.

　

The Lieutenant gently grabbed her wrists and pulled them down with some difficulty. "Let me see your face, young one. I am not going to harm you," he said quietly. He normally would not be so gentle with any of the sin’dorei, but the girl was obviously no threat in her condition and he needed her cooperation. He lifted her chin up and looked at her face, then sighed. "I’m afraid it is as you probably feared, child."

　

She finally spoke, her voice ragged but angry, "I already know that. And I’m not a child."

　

"Of course not, but when you are thirteen thousand years old, almost everyone is a child."

　

The orc was watching them, leaning against the wall. "Just turn off the bars. Let me heal her. It will work better than your damned bandages."

　

Llenrus unraveled the bandages and began wrapping them around her head and her badly damaged right eye, along with the cut both above and below it. She tried to pull away, as he knew she would, but thankfully the troll held her still in a bear hug, pinning her arms down. "I would, but the General is the only one who has the key that will do that," the night elf explained. He finished as quickly as he could. "These have antiseptic properties. They should prevent any infection."

　

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small vial of purple liquid. He uncorked it. "Drink," he said, holding it to her lips. She turned away quickly and he sighed. "It’s to help with the pain. You need to rest."

　

"She won’t drink it, elf," the troll said, the first time he spoke.

　

Llenrus stared at him. "Why not? It will help."

　

"We be havin’ our reasons," the troll continued.

　

Wildstar sighed, looking at the three. He was not sure what else he could say or do that would make it any easier on them. Instead, he simply got up and walked out of the cell, closing the door behind him and making sure that it locked. "Someone will be by with food and blankets tonight," he said simply, then thought for a moment. "And I . . . apologize for what happened today. It was not, um, appropriate."

　

The troll had let go of the girl, who had curled up in her corner again. She did not acknowledge what he said, but the other two stared at him with unreadable expressions. He sighed and walked out the door.  
  
##########

　

Phogrim had dealt with many uncooperative patients before, but this had to be one of the worst. That was mostly due to the fact that with other injuries, he could pin the limb down and get to work, but he was afraid to use too much force to restrain the much smaller blood elf. She was much harder to restrain than someone her size should be.

　

He whispered down to her, "I just need to check it and see if I need to replace the dressing. Just stay still, Beli."

　

"It hurts!"

　

"I know, I know. The sooner I check it, the sooner we can stop messing with it."

　

"I don’t want you looking at it," she whined.

　

He sighed. Jof was on the other side of her, holding her shoulders down gently. She was covered up in a blanket that had been brought by the two Alliance soldiers outside the bars, Justin and Kathkin. He had been surprised to see them less than an hour after the night elf had left - it had to be the middle of the day. The boy had explained that they had permission to be by whenever they wanted.

　

Phogrim had not said so, but he was grateful. That kid was brave and had stopped even worse from happening. He bent closer to the sin’dorei. "Stop whining," he whispered. "I know you’re hurting, but I need to do this. It hurts even more if you struggle. Why don’t you want me to look at it?"

　

She did not answer him, but at least she stopped squirming. He gently pulled the bandage up and sighed, but was careful to keep his face neutral. He had long since learned that showing any sort of negative emotion to the wounded only caused them to panic again. "Yeah, we need to change the dressing. Crawford, right?" he said, glancing over his shoulder. He noticed the two trying to glance around him and look at her injury, and saw them grimace.

　

"Yeah. Here," the boy said quickly, handing the fresh dressing through the bars. Phogrim took them and turned, grabbing her chin firmly but gently, beginning to apply it. She struggled a little, but she was obviously tired, and within a few seconds he got it applied and covered again.

　

"See, that wasn’t so bad," he said quietly.

　

She did not answer him, instead rolling onto her left side as soon as Jof let her go and staring through the bars at the two Alliance soldiers. After a few seconds, she spoke, "It looks terrible, doesn’t it?"

　

_So, that’s why she doesn’t want me looking at it…_ he thought.

　

He was about to respond to her, but Kathkin did first, "Kinda, yeah." He turned when he heard a smack and her yelp to see the human glaring at her and her holding her shoulder.

　

"You are just so much help, aren’t you?" the orc muttered at the gnome before turning his attention back to the sin’dorei. "It doesn’t look that bad," he said gently.

　

"Ya. I t’ink ju look kinda like a badass," Jof said, smiling at her. He moved to the side she was facing and flopped down on his back so she would have to look at him.

　

She scowled. "That’s because you’re a stupid troll," she muttered. "I can’t fight like this. My vision is all . . . Flat."

　

"Now dat wasn’t very nice," he said, still smiling, although there was a little pity in his eyes.

　

Phogrim sighed. "We’ll have one of the Sunreavers try to restore the depth in your good eye," he said patiently. "Plenty of warriors get injuries like this. You can learn to adapt to it with some practice. I mean, your Regent Lord lost his eye and he is one of the finest fighters the Horde has to offer. You’re younger. Should be even easier for you."

　

"Ya, and he got dis amazin’ lookin’ eyepatch," Jof said. "Ju could totally look amazin’ too in one of dose, girl."

　

"He’s a man," she muttered. "They don’t look awful wearing one."

　

Phogrim glanced over his shoulder at the two Alliance soldiers as the gnome whispered something to the boy, who smiled and nodded. She ran off. The orc shrugged and turned back to the elf, sighing. "I’m sure our comrades will make that bitch and her dogs pay for what they did here, Beli," he said quietly, in Orcish - he did not want the young paladin to hear it.

　

That got a reaction he did not expect. She closed her eye and said shakily, "I don’t want anyone to know about this. How this happened. I-I’m a coward."

"You’re not a-"

　

"Y-yes I am. If I w-weren’t here, you could have gotten away."

　

Phogrim sighed. "If you weren’t here, it would have just happened to one of us instead." He did not get much of a response, but Jof waved his hand at him to stop, turning over on his side so he was facing her.

　

"We won’t be tellin’ no one, girl, not unless ju want to," the troll said gently. "We be needin’ a reason for ya injury, though. Ju left Dalaran wit’ two eyes and ju only be havin’ one now." The orc noticed her scowling at the troll, but he simply continued. "Ah, I know. We be makin’ up a tale to tell da Warchief when she be rescuin’ us."

　

The troll turned over on his back, but was still in front of the sin’dorei, who was at least had calmed down enough to listen glumly. "Who be da Dreadlord dat used ta live in Undercity?"

　

"Varimathras," Phogrim answered quietly. He glanced outside the bars to notice that Justin was sitting down and listening as well.

　

"Ya, dat mon. I bet da Warchief hate dat mon," the troll said, waving his hand at Phogrim, then turning back to the blood elf. "Here what we be sayin’…

　

"Warchief Windrunnah. Boss lady. We be patrolin’ da cliffs of Stormheim, jus’ da three of us. We be findin’ so many caves and rocks and trees and other t’ings. Den one day, me an’ fat ass over here, we run into some difficulty. Da Dreadlord - what be his name, girl?"

　

"Varimathras," she said quietly.

　

"Ya, dat. He catch us when we be lookin’ at a very interestin’ rock," the troll continued, obviously trying to build suspense in a ridiculous fashion. Phogrim smiled slightly when he saw the elf’s expression lighten a bit. "We t’ink it be da end, Warchief. Da loa Bwondsandi be comin’ ta claim our souls.

　

"But no! Dis blood elf, a brave huntress for da Horde, she be hidin’ in da shadows, and she attack da demon with her spear," he said, pushing her on her shoulder gently "Varimathras, though - he be a powerful Dreadlord, and he slice her face, cuttin’ her eye. But she be afraid? No! She not even flinch. She answer dis insult by impalin’ him through da heart, if da demons be havin’ one. She save us all, Warchief. Dis Belidora Bloodfeathah deserve da highest reward."

　

Belidora was at least smiling slightly and seemed to have calmed down. "She won’t believe that," she said, a slight giggle in her voice.

　

"And why not? Ju be brave, and have ju seen dis Dreadlord anywhere in years? I thought of sayin’ Gul’dan, but she might be able to check dat a little too easy."

　

"What if he comes back?"

　

"Den we say ‘he came from da Nether. Nothin’ we can do to fix dat, Warchief,’" he said, shrugging. He looked over at her and ruffled her hair. "Ju laughin’. Dat be bettah."

　

"You’re insane," she said quietly, but at least she was smiling weakly.

　

"Ju like my story. Don’t be lyin’ ta me, girl," Jof said, glancing over at Phogrim and winking.

　

The orc looked down at him and mouthed his thanks, to which the troll shrugged and smiled. Phogrim looked over at the sin’dorei. "You think you can eat something? The boy brought some bread and cheese."

　

"I’m kind of nauseous," she said quietly.

　

"Well, you need to try," he said, crawling over and helping her sit up, holding on so she did not have to expend any energy. He reached over and took the roll from the boy and put it in her hands so she could eat. She frowned at the food but slowly did so, taking a few small bites. _Better response than I expected_ , Phogrim thought.

　

There was an odd noise coming from the door to the prison. He turned around to see Kathkin walking in, followed by what looked vaguely like a rabbit. She got to just outside the bars and bent down, petting it. "Look. I got somethin’ to show you," the gnome said happily. "It’s my pet. Her name is Swiftgear. I made her myself."

　

Phogrim was a little annoyed that it caused his patient to stop eating, but he could feel her relax as she looked at the gnome. "You built your pet?"

　

"Uh huh. Fine gnomish engineering. I bet your goblins can’t build anything near as amazing as Swiftgear here."

　

"How do you control her? Does she have a remote or something?" Belidora asked quietly, staring curiously at the robotic bunny.

　

"That’s an Alliance secret," Kathkin warned, but continued all the same. "But she has a very advanced form of artificial intelligence. She acts like a real rabbit, but she’s a much better fighter."

　

"I would hope so," Phogrim chuckled. "Bunnies are not known for their skill on the battlefield." He tapped the elf on the hand again, motioning her to keep eating. She hesitantly did so, although she stopped after a few bites more and handed it back to him. "You feel sick?" he asked gently. When she nodded, he sighed and helped her lie back down, covering her back up.

　

The sin’dorei looked at the gnome for a moment, still smiling at Swiftgear. "Is my pet still okay?"

　

Kathkin smiled. "Yeah, she’s okay. I check on her every day. The stable master has finally gotten the hang of feeding her without her jumping at him. Don’t worry, he loves animals. He takes good care of her," the gnome said, sitting down and petting Swiftgear. The robot reacted like a normal rabbit would, pushing its head against her hand and hopping next to her. "I think she misses you, though. What’s her name, anyway?"

　

"Snowhide," she replied tiredly. "And yeah, she does kind of bite when you try to feed her." She curled up a bit tighter under the blanket, shivering slightly, and looked at the paladin. "They said you helped me. Thank you."

　

He smiled back, a bit sadly. "I’m sorry I didn’t stop them sooner."

　

"At least you stopped it. A lot of people wouldn’t," she said, coughing. "I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble."

　

"I didn’t," he said, although he rubbed the cut on his face slightly.

　

She smiled at him, although there was pain in her expression that did not seem to come from just her injuries. Phogrim was leaning against the bars and noticed it. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently, but she was focused on the human. "You’re a sweet kid. You remind me of my little brother," she said quietly. "Of what kind of man he would have been."

　

Justin frowned slightly, seemingly noticing the past tense in her phrasing. "What was his name?" he asked gently.

　

"Nindrel," she said sadly.

　

Phogrim glanced down at his friend. She rarely spoke about her brother. Something had happened that she never wanted to talk about and he had the sense not to press her on it. He was not even sure how he died, just that he was dead. He sighed and heard the human shift behind him.

　

"I’m sure he would be proud of the woman his sister is now," the paladin said gently. "A brave soldier who has saved many lives, I’m sure."

　

She forced a weak smile, then closed her good eye, evidently too exhausted to stay awake. "Thank you, but I’m not so sure," she said quietly.  
  
##########

　

"What ju doin’ now?" Tikhuna asked, sitting on a barrel. She had spent all day trying to set up the hastily constructed camp and was exhausted, but she seemed to Mork to be simultaneously eager to start searching the region. He wished he still had the youthful, stupid energy that she did.

　

Mork looked back at her and then back at the crates, moving them to the side one by one. "I’m trying to figure out a halfway edible meal I could prepare with what we managed to salvage from our ship," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Something that cooks quickly. I don’t want the Alliance seeing the campfire. If I can even get a campfire started."

　

It had been a disaster trying to get what supplies they could find, find the survivors of the Alliance’s attack on their ships, and get camp set up. The weather had not helped, of course. Not only that, the Warchief had gone missing after rowing away, although they had been told that she was fine - probably.

　

_Well, this trip has started out more exciting than I thought_ , Mork thought tiredly.

　

He pried open another crate. Inside were some water soaked vegetables, but at least they looked edible. "Okay, so far we have potatoes, mushrooms, and for some reason a whole cask of rum," he said, glancing back at her. "I believe one of your tribesmen may have salvaged that himself."

　

The troll smiled at him and shrugged.

　

"Normally I would appreciate it, but we need to make an actual meal and feed everyone, not just sit around and drink," he said, then glanced up at yelling outside the tent.

　

"Rider incoming!"

　

Something in the tone of the sentry’s voice indicated that it was not one of their riders. He reached over and grabbed his axe, but Tikhuna waved him back. "Not wit’ ya leg, sir," she said quietly, picking up her bow and motioning for the nightsaber to come along. He sighed, but he knew she was probably right. Still, he could at least see what was going on. He poked his head out of the tent to watch the scene unfold.

　

It was a young male pandaren, riding - not a turtle, as was typical of their race - but a horse. He was dressed in a Kirin Tor tabard, although he was obviously no mage. He also carried a white flag, although such a thing should not really be necessary if he was who Mork suspected. He had learned in Dalaran before they departed that Archmage Khadgar had set something up with volunteers to deliver messages between the Horde and Alliance, just to keep the war effort going. Seems the Archmage had decided that the two sides were not as willing to work together as he thought they should be.

　

Not that the Horde was _wrong._ After all, it was not they who launched an unprovoked, deadly sneak attack from the skies as soon as they arrived in Stormheim.

　

Still, a few of the Horde troops, Tikhuna included, surrounded the pandaren, weapons aimed at him. He did not seem to flinch - evidently he was used to such greetings. He pulled something out of his shirt - it was a necklace with a small but ornate purple stone set in it, signifying that he was neutral. The bizarre glint on it showed the odd magic that was within it and was further proof that it was not an Alliance forgery.

　

The soldiers seemed to relax and the head sentry, a foreboding but lovely Dark Ranger, asked, "State your name and business."

　

"My name is Binh Nightpaw. I come bearing a package from an Alliance General for whoever the commander of this camp is," he said succinctly but politely.

　

"A package? What’s inside of it?" the Dark Ranger asked, taking a step back. Mork noticed the others do so as well. Surely the Alliance would not send an innocent messenger into their camp with something deadly.

　

"I don’t know, but I scanned it, as I was told to do with any package from either side," he said. "Scanner was something a goblin made, so if you trust them - anyway, nothing explosive, magical, or poisonous. It kind of rattles, though. That’s all I can tell you."

　

The Dark Ranger looked over at Tikhuna and nodded. The troll hesitantly walked up and took the package - it was about twice the size of a hat box. The pandaren reached into another pouch and handed her a scroll with an Alliance sigil stamped in blue wax, sealing it. "This goes with it. Shall I wait for a response?"

　

Tikhuna looked at the Dark Ranger, who shook her head. "I doubt that our commander is eager to speak with the Alliance right now. We will send for you if we have need of your aid. Thank you."

　

Mork watched the pandaren turn his mount around and ride off, splashing through puddles as he went. The Dark Ranger was speaking to Tikhuna and motioned for her to take the box to the commander’s tent.

　

Now Mork _was_ curious. He glanced out and noticed that the other soldiers dispersed, seemingly not that interested in what the message could be, but Tikhuna started walking toward the commander’s tent. Mork limped out of the tent and after her. "Here, I’ll carry that," he said politely.

　

"I got it, sir," she replied, then seemed to notice the look on his face. She rolled her eyes and handed him the box. It did rattle slightly, but not much. It seemed to be packed tight with whatever it was, although it was not heavy. Together they walked into the command tent.

　

Thad Nightbringer was sitting behind his makeshift desk, speaking to a sin’dorei mage. Mork noticed Tikhuna frown at her, although the elf did not seem to pay any attention to the troll. "I don’t know if I can make a shield strong enough to withstand a fel blast of that magnitude. We’ll need more help," she was explaining.

　

Thad put his hand up and she stopped talking. He was looking at the newcomers. "Yes?"

　

"Package for ya, sir," Tikhuna said, handing him the scroll. "It be from some Alliance Gen’ral. Dat be it." She motioned with her head toward the package that Mork was holding. "Da pandaren dat bring it by say he scan it and everyt’ing seem fine."

　

The elf turned around and took the box from Mork, seemingly inspecting it. "There seems to be no energy coming from it," she said, still suspicious, but she set it down on the desk.

　

Thad looked at them and sighed. "Guess we’ll see what the bastards want," he muttered, breaking the seal and opening the scroll. The Forsaken began reading it silently, a bored look on his face, until he frowned and leaned back, a grim look on his face.

　

Mork and Tikhuna exchanged a glance when the officer did not say anything, but finally the troll asked quietly, "Sir, can ju be tellin’ us what it say?"

　

"You told me you were looking for those three missing soldiers, right?" Thad started, but at the words Tikhuna quickly snatched the scroll out of his hand. He opened his mouth, as if to discipline her for the breach of protocol and rudeness of her action, but she was not facing him. Instead she was reading it quickly.

　

Mork could not see over her shoulder, but he noticed when her shoulders sagged all the same. He gritted his teeth when she turned to him, her eyes full of anger. He reached out and took the scroll that she offered, then sat down in a chair and began to read it. It was written in Common, which made it a little more difficult to decipher, but at least the script was neat. There was no greeting at the beginning of it - instead, the letter went right to the matter.

　

We hold three of your soldiers prisoner. We found them wandering the cliffs of Stormheim some time ago. You should be quite proud of them - they put up quite a fight. Even now they remain defiant - even after we have had to remove some flesh.

　

Mork stopped at that part for a moment, suddenly feeling quite ill, but he forced himself to continue reading.

　

Such courage should be rewarded with mercy from their commanders, but that is up to you. Do not harass us and we will release them to your custody when our mission within Stormheim is completed. Give us trouble, monster, and we will send them back to you piece by piece.

There was no signature at the bottom. Of course not - this ‘General’ was evidently working on his or her own. This letter being delivered to almost anyone in the Alliance would result in severe and harsh sanctions. If there was even one thing that Mork knew about the Alliance, it was that this would be something the majority of their leaders would never allow.

　

He tossed the scroll back on the desk, where the mage picked it up, also reading through it. Mork noticed that the officer was prying open the wooden box with a knife. The orc braced himself - he was not sure he wanted to see whatever was inside. Still, the lid popped off within a few seconds and Mork forced himself to look inside.

　

Thankfully, there were no body parts, but there were a couple of Horde tabards inside, bloodstained and torn. It looked like they did put up a fight after all. One was quite large and could probably fit him if he put it on, but the other was much smaller. He picked up the smaller one and inspected the stitching along its side - it matched where the girl had told him she had been cut during the Broken Shore assault when she had visited him with her friends. He sighed.

　

Thad was going through the box, pulling things out. Other than the tabards, there was a small arrowhead, painted teal and red. He showed it to Tikhuna. "Do you have any idea what this is?" he asked.

　

She was staring at something in her hand, but she looked up and nodded slowly. "It be a gift from da Warchief. Warchief Vol’jin," she said quietly. "For da Darkspear who helped fight against Garrosh. It probably be Jof’s."

　

Thad sighed and put the items back in the box. They were mostly small things - a belt with a skinning knife, a necklace, some bracers. He slammed the lid back down and pushed it away.

　

Tikhuna was staring at him. "We need ta save dem," she said quietly.

　

"None of this even proves they’re alive," the Forsaken muttered. "We’re not going to just sit in our camp. We need to find this Aegis, and we need to keep an eye out for the Queen. All of us know the consequences for taking part in this war, including them." His voice turned angry. "And they threaten us to avoid conflict? They bombed us from the sky!"

　

"Perhaps we should take some of their people. If they kill our soldiers, we’ll kill theirs," the sin’dorei said. Mork looked over at her and sighed. He had heard the blood elves could be vicious. He then back at the Forsaken. The man seemed to be considering the idea.

　

Mork rubbed his face and said quietly, "With all due respect, my lady, it’s easy to start an escalation of brutality when you aren’t the one to pay the price for it." He noticed her shoot him an glare, but then she sighed, shaking her head and walking to the other end of the room.

　

"We can’t just be leavin’ dem to die, sir," Tikhuna said pleadingly. "Send me. I be gettin’ dem out."

　

"I can’t just send a random soldier to the Alliance camp," Nightbringer said tiredly. "Then what will we do when you get captured? We’ll be in an even worse position. And we can’t assault the camp, even if we did have the numbers. If we do that, they’ll kill them before we can get to them."

　

"I’ll go with her," Mork said suddenly, causing Tikhuna to turn and stare at him.

　

The Forsaken also stared at him. "I thought you said you could not run."

　

"I’ll stay on the outskirts - help her scout out the camp. I won’t go inside. With any luck, we will not even meet any of the Alliance forces until we can get them safely away."

　

Thad Nightbringer looked at the two of them for a long time, his face unreadable. Finally he sighed. "Very well," he muttered. "I can give you until sunrise tomorrow. That will give us enough time to fortify our camp, anyway. If you get taken, do not expect a rescue. This is your own suicide mission, and it will not be one for any of the rest of our forces." He turned away. "Get going. Try not to get yourselves killed."

　

Mork and Tikhuna both walked back out into the rain. Mork motioned for one of the goblin engineers. "You wouldn’t happen to know how to cook, would you?" he started to ask when a voice came behind him.

　

"I’m coming with you," the woman said. Both he and Tikhuna turned around to see the sin’dorei mage standing there, her hood pulled up to keep the rain out.

　

Tikhuna looked over at Mork and then back at the mage. "Why? Ju don’t care ‘bout dem. I saw you on da ship, how you act."

　

"Maybe I want the reward money?" she replied, a bit snidely. "Or maybe I want to kill some Alliance? I haven’t gotten to do that in so very long."

　

"We’re not going there to kill the Alliance, girl," Mork said. "We’re going there to get the prisoners out. A violent assault will put them in a great deal of danger. We have to use subtlety."

　

The mage crossed her arms. "Then I think I can help with that. For one thing, if what the letter says is true, they’re likely not healthy enough to make the trek back to camp. They’ll need a portal." She paused. "I’m not going to offer again. If you really wish, go by yourselves. I assure you, though, you could use my . . .talents."

　

Mork and Tikhuna exchanged a glance. He sighed. "She’s probably right," he muttered. He turned back to the goblin. "Sorry for the interruption. There’s some food in that tent over there. I can’t stay and cook. Can you whip something up? There’s thirty gold in it for you when I get back."

　

The goblin looked. "Pay up front."

　

The orc rolled his eyes and handed it to him. The goblin smiled and ran to the hut. _Hopefully he doesn’t poison anyone._  
  
##########

_Tikhuna, Mork, and Liralina lay on their bellies on top of the ridge, gazing down at the Alliance camp below. The Stormheim downpour had let up somewhat, and the campfires made the buildings fairly easy to see. The troll listened intently as the older orc pointed to the west end of the camp. "See that building? I bet you anything that’s where they’re holding them."_

_"Why are you so sure?" the mage asked quietly._

_"It’s stone, for one thing," Mork whispered. "You might be able to hold a blood elf in a tent if you bind her to the post, but a troll or orc would rip it apart as soon as they let them loose to feed them. Besides, if the boys are shamans, then they would need to bind a magic suppressing cell to something. Those things are designed to be portable. If they’re not anchored to something solid, you can sometimes work out a way to break out of them with brute strength."_

_"How do ju know all dis?"_

_"You think I haven’t been in an outpost before? Besides, I’ve had plenty of . . .run-ins with the Alliance. I know how their camps are constructed. The troop barracks are on the east side of the camp, see?" he said, pointing. "They would want prisoners housed as far away from their barracks as possible, both because a late night escape attempt would be dangerous for the sleeping soldiers if they were next to the barracks, and if what the letter said was true . . .well, they probably do not want their sleep disturbed."_

_The sin’dorei rested her chin on her hands. "If they’re smart, though, they’re not holding them together."_

_Tikhuna could see Mork frown, even in the dark. "That’s a possibility," he said. "You two will need to move quickly. And you’ll need a distraction."_

_"Any suggestions?" Tikhuna asked quietly._

Now, Tikhuna glanced over her shoulder at the mage as they approached the east end of the camp. She quickly hopped over the wooden fence and continued inside, crouching down. Her black cloak kept her fairly well hidden, but if she was spotted her height (as well as her bare feet) would make it impossible for them to mistake her for anything other than a troll. She glanced back as the mage suddenly appeared behind her, having blinked inside instead of climbing over the barrier.

　

"I hope this works," the sin’dorei muttered, but at least she was quiet.

　

"Mork be right. We will have ta move quickly. If dey realize dat dey be under attack, dey will kill them," Tikhuna said quietly, looking around some more after ducking behind one of the buildings. It was small and wooden, with a long roof over it, shielding part of the walls from the rain. That would hopefully make it burn quicker. She sniffed the air and caught the sent of horses. Yes. That would work marvelously.

　

If they released their horses, then they would have a much harder time pursuing them.

　

She quickly ran, still crouching down, where she remembered seeing the stables. When she got there, she saw a familiar tuft of snow white fur behind one of the fence posts.

　

"What are you doing?" Liralina hissed behind her.

　

"Dat be da girl’s pet. We be lettin’ her out."

　

"We’re supposed to look for them, not the stupid wolf," the mage snapped quietly, but Tikhuna ignored her. She crawled over to the cage and undid the latch. The she-wolf woke up and growled at first, her ears back, but then she slowly became quiet. Tikhuna hesitantly reached a hand out so the wolf could get her scent. Hopefully her fellow huntress had trained her to recognize the other races of the Horde.

　

The wolf lay her head back down on the dirt and Tikhuna sighed in relief. She grabbed the leather collar attaching the wolf to the fence and undid it, then reached over and pet the animal. "Ju remember me, girl?" she said softly. "Come on now. We be findin’ your master, your mama."

　

Tikhuna walked back out of the pen slowly, ducking her head so she did not hit it on the top of the door. Liralina was busy untying the horses and slapping them, sending them running off into the hills of Stormheim. Seemed that she had had the same idea as the huntress. If they were well trained, they would eventually come back, but that was not their concern right now. They finished with the last of the horses and then looked back toward the center of the camp.

　

"There," Liralina said, pointing. "There’s a campfire, almost dead. One of those branches will do nicely."

　

"I don’t get why ju can’t jus’ use ya magic."

　

"It’s a little more complex than you think," the elf started, when suddenly there was a noise behind them. When they spun around, Liralina was met with a sword to her throat. The spell she had begun forming as soon as she heard the noise died between the fingers of her right hand. They both froze and stared at the bearer of the weapon.

　

It was a human male, dressed in nightclothes and had mousy short hair. He held the sword with one-handed white knuckle grip. The way he glanced back and forth between them betrayed his slight nervousness at the situation. Tikhuna let her hands fall by her side and stared at him. "Why are you here?" he asked, but very quietly. That was a miracle itself. If he had yelled, a dozen soldiers would be there in an instant.

　

"We be lookin’ for our friends, boy. Ju seen dem?"

　

The troll watched as the human’s eyes widened in recognition and, to her surprise, he began to lower his sword slightly. He looked as if he was about to say something to them, but as soon as the sword was away from her throat, Liralina blinked forward, appearing behind him. In the same instant, she raised her hand behind her, sending a small wave of ice shooting at him.

　

The attack almost worked, but the boy quickly brought up a shield made of pure light. The ice blast hit it and was harmlessly and - thankfully - silently deflected.

Paladin.

　

"Hey!" he blurted out, raising his sword again and rushing toward the mage. The action seemed to break his concentration and the shield dissipated. Before he got even a few feet, Tikhuna clasped her hands together and swung, hitting him hard across the back of the head. He collapsed in a heap in the mud in front of her feet.

　

The troll reached down and dragged the boy over to behind the stable, setting him down. When they started, it would be far enough from the flames that he would not be overcome before he woke up. The look on his face when she had asked about the prisoners gave her the feeling that he was not one of the ones that deserved to die tonight. He’d come to eventually. She glanced over at Liralina. "Ju prob’ly didn’t need ta blast him, ju know."

　

"He shouldn’t have attacked me, then."

　

The troll laughed quietly. "Come on den. Let’s be burnin’ dis side of da camp to da ground."  
  
##########

　

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Belidora asked tiredly. Her injury had at least somewhat lessened to more of a constant severe ache than acute pain in the past few days. Unfortunately, this ‘training’ that Phogrim had come up with was now making her good eye ache. She gripped the ball and tossed it back to him. Both her shackled hands and lack of depth perception made it go several feet off the mark, but he managed to move over and catch it.

　

"We can stop it when you get ten in a row," he replied, tossing it back again. She managed to at least stop it with her hand this time, although she could not grip it in time. "This will help your eye. It will train it."

　

She sighed. It was the middle of the night and she was exhausted already, but she tossed the ball back to him, a little closer to the target this time. When he threw it to her this time, she managed to catch it and smiled.

　

"See? Good job. That’s one. Just nine more to go."

　

"Phogrim?" she asked quietly, glancing over at Jof. He was asleep in the corner, or at least seemed to be.

　

"Yeah?"

　

"Can I ask you a question?" she said quietly, tossing the ball back to him. He returned it, and by some miracle she caught it a second time.

　

"Of course."

　

"Do you really think anyone is going to come for us? Or are you and Jof just saying that to make me feel better?" She tossed the ball back to him.

　

He gripped the ball and sighed, looking down at it. It took him a few seconds to respond, but he finally said, "I don’t know, Beli. But no, I don’t," he said sadly. "I don’t know about Jof. He might."

　

She smiled sadly at him, then looked down at the ground as well. "I don’t really either," she said quietly.

　

The orc sighed again and tossed the ball to her gently, where she managed to catch it, even though she was only halfway paying attention. "We should probably prepare for either possibility, though," he said gently. He sat up straighter and flexed his shoulders. "Either way, I’m going to fight. I don’t know about you two, but I suggest you do as well. I’m not kneeling before an executioner."

　

She looked back up at him and nodded silently, tossing the ball back to him. "I’m not either," she said quietly, and he smiled sadly at her. He tossed it to her as well and she caught it. Halfway there, almost.

　

They played the game for several more minutes before there was a sudden cacophony of noise outside of the prison. The young sin’dorei huntress looked at the orc suspiciously and then over at the door. "What do you think is going on?" she asked quietly.

　

Phogrim was staring at the door warily, then looked back at her. "I’m not sure. Wake Jof up."

　

Belidora crawled over to the troll and shook him gently. It took a few tries, but slowly the troll stirred a bit. "Knock it off, mon. I be tryin’ ta sleep," he muttered, putting his arm over his head.

　

"Something is going on. Get up," she hissed at him. When he did not move again, she pushed him harder this time, until he banged his tusk on the wall of the prison.

　

He winced as that woke him up completely, but he sat up and looked at the other two. "What is it?" he snapped.

　

"We don’t know. Just something," the elf said quietly.

　

Phogrim had managed to pull himself to his feet and hobbled over, pulling the other two up as well. The three looked at each other as the noise outside grew louder. It sounded like soldiers shouting at one another in Common, but there were none of the usual sounds of combat. They must have been dealing with some other type of emergency.

　

Belidora walked to the bars of the cell and gripped them, looking out at the door. Her hearing was quite acute, and she was hoping that she would be able make out some of the words. It also helped that her grasp of Common was a little better than either of her cellmates’. She had known it long before she had known Orcish, after all. Finally, one word stuck out, "Fire!"

　

She looked back at the others. "They’re either firing upon something or there’s a fire," she said quietly. There was a slight bit of hope in her voice, something that had not been there for quite some time. "Maybe the Horde did come."

　

Phogrim walked up beside her. "Maybe. Do you think you can fight?"

　

"No!" she said, looking back at him. "We’re bound and unarmed. We haven’t been able to fight them off this entire time."

　

"Well, try," he said shortly.

　

It took a few more minutes, but the door slammed open. Instead of rescuers, as Belidora had desperately been hoping for, the General walked in, flanked by her lackeys. She felt Jof grab her shoulder and pull her back away from the bars. The human was glaring at them angrily, but the three prisoners simply stared back.

　

Finally, the General spoke, her angry glare turning into a dark smile, "It seems you have some friends after all. Unfortunately for you, they have arrived just in time to watch you die." The General paused, turning to the two worgen. "Bring them."

　

The prisoners backed up against the far wall as the two worgen made their way to open the cage, then finally Phogrim whispered to the other two in Orcish, "If what that bitch says is true, then our only chance is to hold them off long enough for whoever it is to reach us." Belidora was listening to him, but her one good eye remained fixed on the worgen. She had not seen either them nor the human since that terrible thing had happened, the sick act they had done to her. "Girl!" the orc snapped in her ear. "Listen. You need to fight. All of us do."

　

The huntress gave an almost imperceptible nod as the door swung open and the worgen walked in, swords drawn. "Come now, beasts," Barclay said. "You wish to face your deaths with honor, right? Don’t make us drag you out."

　

The prisoners stared at their captors, but did not move forward. They did not back away any further, either, although they had very little space in which to flee. The worgen muttered something to one another and began to approach to force the injured captives out of the cell.

　

"Walk wit’ dem, for now," Jof whispered in the girl’s ear. She looked at him, thinking him insane, but Phogrim nodded at her and stepped forward himself.

　

Belidora gritted her teeth and slowly stepped forward. It was difficult to walk with the leg irons on and she winced thinking about how they would hamper any escape attempt.

　

"Ah, that’s better," the General said from outside the cell. Her tone was light but mocking. "You have done so well so far, it would be a pity for you to face death as cowards."

　

Belidora grimaced as she felt Clive grab her by her wounded arm and jerk her forward. It was slow going with the leg irons, and she intentionally made it slower by limping, even though it was not entirely necessary. The General had already walked to the door and had turned around, waiting.

　

Finally, the woman sighed once they got just outside the door to the prison. "This is taking too long. Take them off. They won’t be needing them much longer."

　

The worgen released Jof’s and Phogrim’s leg irons first, although they left the manacles on their wrists in place. Phogrim was standing right behind the young sin’dorei, and when Clive bent down to take her shackles off he whispered in her ear, "Ready?"

　

She looked back at him with her good eye, but did not give any sort of other response, either verbal or non-verbal. Instead she looked back down at the worgen as he took the shackles off and winced a bit when they were released. It had been so long since her legs were free that she was unsure if she remembered how to run, much less do what she was about to do.

　

"Now."

　

Belidora drove her knee quickly up at Clive’s face. Since he looked up at the talking between the two prisoners, it spared him from getting his nose broken, but instead the knee was driven up into his jaw. In her sick and injured condition, she figured that it probably did not do much damage, but he was still knocked onto his back hard.

　

She turned when she heard the struggle behind her. Jof had evidently struck Barclay quite hard and the two were wrestling on the ground over the Alliance soldier’s sword. She jumped onto the worgen’s back and tried wrapping her bound arms around his throat to choke him, but was rewarded for her efforts by being flipped over his back, landing hard on the dirt next to the troll.

　

_Oh yeah, they’re a lot bigger than me_ , she thought stupidly, but rolled over onto her knees. Phogrim was trying to get close enough to the General to take her out, but the woman had her sword out. For an older female, she seemed to be quite skilled with it, but Phogrim stayed out of her reach as well. _That leaves one for me._

　

Belidora looked around, but the worgen was gone. She began to panic a bit - if he was running to get backup, they would almost certainly lose their chance at escape. She got to her feet and looked around, but as she spun around she saw the hilt of a sword swinging at her. She tried to duck, but she misjudged the distance and it crashed into her head, knocking her to the ground.

　

The sin’dorei thought that she might have lost consciousness for a second, but the next thing she realized the worgen’s hand was pulling her to her knees by her black hair. She felt the sword at her throat and reached up to try to push it away, cutting her hand in the process. He evidently did not intend to force a surrender from the other two Horde soldiers - after all, surrender would just mean all three of them would die. He started trying to slit her throat.

　

As the pain of trying to hold the sword compelled her to loosen her grip and the blade touched her throat, she heard a gurgle above her and the strength go out of the worgen’s grip. The blade still cut her, although very shallowly, and she collapsed onto her injured hands and knees as her hair was released.

　

Belidora looked back and saw the worgen, an arrow through his throat. It was fletched with red and green feathers. _Darkspear colors._

　

She heard a grunt and the other worgen growl. He had gotten the sword away from Jof finally and rose it above his head, preparing to strike. Soon a matching arrow sprouted from his throat as well. The troll had to roll out of the way as the worgen fell to avoid being cut anyway.

　

Belidora limped over to him and grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet. They turned to watch Phogrim and the General. The woman had seemingly noticed that her bodyguards had fallen and glared at the orc. "We will hunt you down," she snapped at him, "and send what’s left of you back to Orgrimmar in a glass vial."

　

The orc started to approach the woman, but she turned and ran. Following her would mean moving further into the center of the camp. Still, it appeared that he might do just that. Belidora ran up and grabbed his wrist with both her hands. "We’ll get her later!" she hissed at him. He hesitated and growled, but turned back around.

　

"We gotta be gettin’ out of here, mon," Jof said quickly. Both he and Belidora were slightly bloody from their fights.

　

Belidora looked around, staring at the fire on the other side of the camp. It had been so long since they had been outside for any appreciable amount of time that she could no longer remember the general layout of the camp. One way or another, though, they had to start moving. She turned around and started to point the other direction than where the General had run, figuring that it would lead out of the camp, when something heavy hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground. She rolled over and started to kick whatever it was away until she saw a large wolf snout in her face.

　

"Snowhide!" she blurted out, a little too loudly, and sat up. The frostwolf was sniffing her all over, seemingly inspecting her.

　

Jof walked over and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. "You can play wit’ da wolf later, girl," he started to say, when a couple of figures approached from the shadows. The huntress could feel him tense slightly until they got close enough to be at least somewhat seen. It was a female troll and a female blood elf, wrapped in cloaks to keep out the rain but still easily identifiable. They moved toward the three quickly.

　

"Come on. We need ta run," the female troll said quietly.

　

Belidora looked up at her and got a bit closer. "Tikhuna?" she asked hesitantly.

　

"We talk later, girl. Come on."

　

The huntress looked at her two friends and followed the troll as they quickly and quietly moved through the camp. It was not that large. They had almost reached the outskirts when there was shouting behind them, followed by the heavy sound of boots hitting the mud. Belidora felt the other sin’dorei grab her wrist and pull her along as they started running as well.

　

"We should split up! Split their forces!" the sin’dorei rescuer yelled at Tikhuna.

　

The troll was hesitant, but she nodded. "Boys, wit’ me!" she said quickly, going right while the sin’dorei pulled Belidora left. The three former prisoners looked at each other worriedly but followed their respective saviors.

　

Belidora was glancing back, worried that Snowhide would stop following her, when suddenly she and the other blood elf slammed into something. She landed hard on her back under her comrade, who was seemingly stunned by the collision. She glanced up and saw a human staring down at her, his sword drawn. It took her several seconds to recognize him. It was that Captain.

　

She grabbed the other blood elf’s arm and tried to pull her to her feet. It would take several seconds more for Snowhide to catch up to them, and in that time the human could have easily dispatched them. He seemed to be staring at them though, seemingly surprised to see them. The huntress felt him grab her shoulder and then her chin, forcing her to look at him. She glared at him with her one good eye. His eyes were angry, but for some reason the anger did not seem to be directed at her. A moment later he let go and pointed the direction they had been running.

　

"Go. Get out of here."

　

By that time the other sin’dorei was struggling to her feet. Belidora kept staring at him in shock and nodded as she helped her new friend up and they started running again. She glanced back to see the officer watch them for a moment before running back towards the center of the camp.

　

"How far is it?" Belidora asked the other elf. She was dressed as a mage, and she seemed like she was vaguely familiar to the huntress, although she was not sure where from.

　

"Just a mile. Don’t stop running," the elf answered her in their native tongue. It was not like Belidora _could_ stop running with the vice grip on her arm that the mage had, but she quickened her pace as much as she could. Her breathing was badly labored, though, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. The fact that she was running with bare feet, cutting them on the rocks on the path, did not make matters any better. Still, it was the fear and adrenaline that carried her through.

　

It took what seemed like forever, but they stumbled up the ridge. The mage looked around. "The others must have gone ahead," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Come on, let’s keep moving." The mage kept ahold of the huntress’s hand and kept going, but at least she was walking now.

　

It took several more minutes, but finally they made it to a small cave. Belidora vaguely thought that they might have hidden out in the cave before when they had been on patrol, but her mind was a little hazy from the running and fighting. As they approached, an orc stood in the way, an axe in his hand. He tensed as he saw them, until the mage said quickly, "It’s just us."

　

The orc nodded, his eyes widening somewhat, but he pointed inside. After the two elves passed, he followed them in.

　

Belidora looked around as she went inside. There was a small fire already started. Jof and Phogrim were seated next to it, shivering and wrapped in blankets. The shackles were still on their wrists, but the chain connecting them was severed, allowing them to move their hands freely. The young sin’dorei stumbled over to them and collapsed next to Phogrim, who finally looked over at her.

　

"What took you so long?" he asked tiredly.

　

"Ran into some trouble. Nothing major," she muttered. He weakly raised his hand over her head and she winced as she felt cold water douse her, only to dry an instant later. It was easily the most annoying of his healing spells, but at least it began mending her hands and other small wounds.

　

The girl looked at the other two in the firelight. They looked terrible, covered in scars, wounds, and dirt. She imagined she looked the same way, if not worse. The orc that had been standing in entry walked over and knelt down in front of her, pulling back his hood.

　

"Hey kid," he said gently.

　

She stared at him for a few seconds, slowly realizing her breathing was still rapid. Finally she spoke. "Mork?"

　

"Yeah, it’s me," he said quietly, rubbing her left cheek with one of his large hands, away from the bandage wrapped around where her right eye used to be. "You kids look awful. Come here, I’ll cut the chain on your cuffs so you’ll be more comfortable. We’ll have to get them taken off back in Dalaran."

　

He led her a few feet away and had her lie on her stomach, her hands in front of her. With the help of Tikhuna, he got her arms pinned to the ground and then swung his axe, severing the chain in between them. She got up slowly and let her arms fall to her side, for the first time in a long time. Her shoulders hurt badly from not being used, but it would pass soon. She heard Mork speaking to the other two quietly, "Give them a few minutes to get their bearings, then we’ll go back."

　

Belidora stumbled back to the others and sat down, staring at the flames again. Snowhide came up behind her, still sniffing every inch of her. After awhile she heard Jof finally speak. "We made it," he said quietly and in a matter of fact tone. "We be goin’ home."

　

She was seated in between the other two and looked up at him. "I be seein’ my parents," he said, still looking at the flames. "Dey prob’ly be worried."

　

Belidora turned away from him and looked at the flames as well, a bit of anger and jealousy creeping in, followed by guilt at feeling angry and jealous. After a few seconds she heard Phogrim started to chuckle next to her. "I can’t believe we made it," he said quietly, then laughed. "Those bastard worgen are dead and we’re still here."

　

The sin’dorei felt as he put a massive arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer in a hug. It was a little rough, but he obviously did it by accident. She looked up at him and smiled. "That was awesome," she whispered, starting to laugh as well. She turned and looked at Jof, who had turned his head to look at them and was smiling weakly.

　

She pulled away from Phogrim and jumped on the troll gently, hugging him around his neck. He jumped a bit, but returned the hug, and she felt the orc hugging them both. It was a little uncomfortable, being the smallest of the three, but after a moment they separated and sat back.

　

Belidora followed Jof’s gaze as he looked over at their three rescuers. The mage had pulled her hood down and Belidora suddenly remembered where she knew her from. _Liralina. The mage from the ship._ This time, though, the mage along with the other two were smiling as they watched them, although the mage still seemed to be slightly perturbed.

　

"Thank you," Phogrim said quietly as they approached, sitting down with the three former prisoners. "You came for us. You saved us."

　

"Of course we did," Mork said quietly, sitting in front of Belidora after handing her a blanket. He had some water and a rag to clean off her wounds somewhat. "We couldn’t leave you there." She winced when he wiped her face off. The rag was rough. He avoided the area around her bandaged eye, but thankfully he did not ask her about it, at least not yet.

　

She looked up at him. "We thought no one was coming," she said softly.

　

He sighed and looked over at the mage, who was trying to dry off with a wool blanket. "Do you think you could open up a portal to the camp or teleport us there? It’s probably best if we not try to make the journey on foot."

　

"Of course," Liralina said, standing up, evidently quite eager to get out of the dank, cold cave. She closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate. Belidora wrapped the blanket around herself and felt something tugging at her. She noticed Jof and Phogrim jump then relax. They obviously knew what it was, but were probably not quite as used to it as she was. Still, it was always a slightly uncomfortable experience. The young huntress closed her eyes.

　

The next thing she knew, rain was pelting her head and face again. She opened her eyes to find herself in the middle of an unfamiliar camp, although the Horde symbols painted on the supply crates stacked about a dozen yards away relaxed her somewhat. Snowhide seemed to have not noticed the teleportation at all, as she was still inspecting her master. Belidora looked at the others and dumbly reached over, petting her wolf and holding onto her back to pull herself up.

　

Now that the adrenaline had dissipated, her sickness and injuries were beginning to catch up to her. She looked back at Phogrim and Jof as they followed Mork toward what appeared to be the commander’s headquarters and noticed that the same seemed to be true for them. It did not seem to be quite as bad, though, but then both trolls and orcs could put up with much more punishment than elves.

　

Belidora was not sure she could make it the few dozen yards to the tent, but she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. She looked up to see Tikhuna smile at her gently, holding her up. "We almost dere, girl. Jus’ relax. We take ju to say hi to da leader and den we get ju to Dalaran to get patched up," she said quietly.

　

They stepped into the tent and out of the rain to see a Forsaken mage, working at his desk. He did not look up immediately, but after a few seconds he stopped his writing and glanced at them, a surprised expression on his face. Well, as surprised as they ever look.

　

"You actually found them," he said, standing up and walking over. Belidora kept the blanket wrapped around her tightly and looked away slightly as he got in front of her. She ran her fingers through Snowhide’s fur to try to calm herself. She jumped slightly as the commander lifted her face up with his hand. It was a gentle gesture and was obviously not meant to hurt her, but their hands were always so cold.

　

The commander frowned. "It looks like the Alliance had already started on their threat without any action from us," he said darkly.

　

Belidora looked at him, confused, then over at Phogrim and Jof, who just looked tired by this point. Mork cleared his throat, "Sir, they probably need to see healers soon and get some food in their bellies. Is any of the stew left?"

　

The Forsaken nodded to Mork and looked at them, obviously considering the idea, then nodded. "Yes, of course. We will have to talk later, however, as soon as you regain your strength. You can stay here until you’re ready to be teleported to Dalaran. The workers at the infirmary there will be able to do a much more complete job than our own healers, and it would serve you well to get out of the damp."

　

The three nodded dumbly and walked over to the corner of the tent, sitting down together. Mork had come back by this time with a few bowls of stew and handed it to them. There did not seem to be much in it, but it was still hot. They ate it slowly and silently. Their earlier jubilation at escaping had suddenly been replaced with exhaustion. The orc had been followed in by an orcish rogue who went about trying to remove the shackles from their wrists. He only halfway looked them over and grimaced, but said nothing.

　

"Do you mind accompanying them to the Dalaran Infirmary?" the Forsaken asked Mork.

　

"No, of course not. Anything to help."

　

"Good. Inform those there that they were wounded in battle with some unknown enemy. Make something up, I don’t care."

　

"Why, sir?" Mork said, frowning. "Why should we cover up for the Alliance’s crimes?"

　

"There are reasons," he said.

　

Mork shrugged and sighed. "Of course, sir."

　

As soon as the rogue snapped the three’s shackles off, the commander spoke again. "I’m sorry, Lady Bloodfeather, but you need to leave your pet here. I’m sure they’re not allowed in the infirmary. We’ll take care of her," he said. Belidora smiled slightly - she had never been called ‘Lady’ any time she could remember, but she nodded tiredly. The mage continued. "Are you all ready?" When he got an affirmative answer, he raised his hand and an instant later they were in the middle of the Filthy Animal in Dalaran.

　

Mork sighed and helped them up. Belidora shook off the dizziness from standing again and kept the blanket wrapped around her. They had blinked in just in front of the fireplace and she wanted badly to just remain sitting there, but Mork gently prodded them along. Besides, the other patrons of the inn and turned to look at the newcomers and were staring. She walked in between the orc and the troll, so at least maybe they could not see her as well.

　

It took only a few minutes to get to the Dalaran Infirmary. When he stepped inside, Mork called to one of the workers. "We need help over here. They’re badly injured."

　

The woman walked over quickly and escorted them to some cots lining the wall. She quickly went to grab a small bag that obviously held her supplies. "What happened to them?" she asked.

　

"Injured in a battle with the Legion in Azsuna," Mork said quickly.

　

"Oh dear," she said, taking Belidora’s wet blanket and having her cover up with the dry one. She grabbed her hand and pulled it out of the blanket, evidently intending to set up a sort of injection, then paused, staring at the sin’dorei’s wrist. Her bruised, cut wrist, where the shackle had been for so long. The human looked over at Mork suspiciously. "Are you sure they were injured in battle?"

　

The orc sighed. "Please, just help them."

　

The woman frowned and then looked back down at the huntress, smiling gently. "What’s your name, young warrior?"

　

"Belidora Bloodfeather."

　

"That’s a nice name. My name is Kaliyah Gale," she said soothingly, reaching over into her pack and pulling out a small vial. "I need you to drink this. It will put you to sleep. I need to clean out your wounds and you don’t want to be awake for that, okay?"

　

Belidora looked at the vial suspiciously. It was not green like the ones she had been forced to drink by that horrible woman in the camp, but instead a light golden color. She hesitantly took it and swallowed it. It even tasted sweet, like Eversong Wine. She lay back down on the cot and stared at the woman, who was looking at her with a sad look in her eyes. Within a few seconds, the darkness at the edge of her vision covered it up completely and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

　

##########

　

Captain Blackwater surveyed his camp, or at least what was left of it. A little under half of it had burned, and it was a wonder that none of his troops were killed, although several were badly injured trying to either escape or douse the fires. He saw General Lemley looking around the ruins and walked up to her. What he was about to say _was_ quite insubordinate, but at this point he no longer really cared.

　

"What exactly did you put in that letter, ma’am? It seems to have made the Horde quite angry."

　

He listened to her as she gave him a short run down of it, then rubbed his face. "Well, that explains quite a lot, actually," he muttered. He looked at her, then back at the ruins of the supply buildings that had burned. "Turns out I was right again. The Horde did value their lives."

　

"If they valued their lives, then they would not have risked them with such an attack."

　

Mikal stared at her. Was she really arguing with him now? He got in front of her so she would have to look him in the eye. "If I had soldiers missing, and I received a letter from the Horde like the one you sent them? One that said they were torturing and maiming my men? Not only would I rescue them and burn their camp, I would have put every single person I found inside to the sword," he growled. "When the Warchief you hate so much hears from those three what you did to them to try to get to her, we will be lucky if she does not do the same to us."

　

"This was your idea, Captain. Remember?"

　

"I suggested we dissuade them from attacking, not ensure that they did. You made it where they had no chance to simply wait."

　

The woman glared at him, obviously beginning to get quite angry. "Are you questioning my judgement, Captain?"

　

"I think it’s fairly obvious that I am," he snapped.

　

"I will not allow such insubordination," she said, getting into his face. "I should turn you over to-"

　

"Go! Do it! Tell King Wrynn," Blackwater said, backing away a few steps, his eyes narrowed. "We will tell him together why this camp burned."

　

"Because the Horde burned it."

　

"Because they were trying to save their comrades, the ones you were torturing," he retorted. He noticed a few of his soldiers, who were picking through the ruined supplies, were watching them and listening to their conversation. Good. Perhaps they would learn something. "You weren’t even doing it for any good reason. We had already established they don’t know what’s going on when, oh, you decided to cut out the girl’s eye! What, were you _bored_? Did the helpless prisoner do something to make you _angry_?"

　

Blackwater could tell that she desperately wanted to mete out punishment for his rebelliousness then and there, but she did not. Instead, she turned away. "I’m done here," she announced. "I need to give my report back in Dalaran. Farewell."

　

The Captain watched her go, then stormed off angrily to his own headquarters. He was met by Llenrus, who was carrying some parchment that he had been writing on. "Sir, we will need to restore the damaged supplies from Dalaran soon. It will take quite a bit of gold. I suggest we appeal to the Stormwind Treasury, explain that we have had a disaster in the camp and are short on food."

　

He sat down in his comfortable chair and rubbed his face. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you need to do, do it."

　

The night elf set the parchment down on the cluttered desk and sat down on another chair without asking. Mikal noticed him watching him and sighed. "What, Lieutenant?" he muttered.

　

"May I ask you a question, sir?"

　

"Yeah, sure."

　

"I saw that girl - the prisoner - and another sin’dorei, a mage, running right to where you came from last night, during the attack," the Lieutenant started. "Did you see them?"

　

Mikal cocked his head slightly and looked at Llenrus. He smiled slightly. "Perhaps."

　

"I didn’t see any arcane blasts," the night elf said, leaning back. "You let them go?"

　

"Do you disapprove?"

　

Llenrus seemed to think of that for a moment, leaning back in the chair slightly and staring up at the wooden ceiling of the hut. Finally, he shook his head. "It is not my place to question you, sir."

　

"I’m asking for your opinion. Give it."

　

"I have no love for our sin’dorei cousins, sir," he said. "And from the short conversation I had with the girl, she obviously was not pleased by my presence either." He paused, frowning. "I suppose that she can not be held responsible for her ancestors’ sins, however. She likely does not know any other way to live. I suppose the same can be said for any member of the Horde."

　

"That isn’t the question I asked. I meant about letting enemy soldiers go."

　

The night elf looked over at him. "I think you did what you thought was the right thing."

　

"I was keeping a promise," Mikal said, sitting up and looking at his hands. "And the mage was not a threat at the moment. I took them by surprise. My only other options were to kill an unarmed, injured soldier, or deliver her to be executed." He clenched his fists slightly. "And sometimes, at least . . . I like to think, or at least pretend, that I’m not a murderer."

 


	5. Stormheim conclusion

**Author's Note: Sylvanas Windrunner, Nathanos Blightcaller, settings, situations, and other miscellaneous things are all copyright to Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission or profit.** _  
_

#

　

_‘I never thought that I would miss Murder Row.’_

_That was not entirely true. Belidora had always somewhat missed her childhood home, as horrible as it was, but her mother had given her entire life savings to move the three of them out and into a small cottage in Eversong Woods, not far from the city gates. She was probably right - it had been difficult to raise Belidora there, and it would be wrong to do the same with her brother, who had just been born when they left those seven years ago._

_Her mother had loved that cottage, even though it was in constant need of repair due to the shoddy workmanship that had gone into its construction. The two of them had decorated it with furs and flowers that were plentiful in the forests around them and that Belidora had gathered to help her mother in her tailoring and leatherworking business. There was even a small garden outside where they would grow vegetables and more flowers. It seemed everything grew well in the Land of Eternal Spring. It had been a difficult half decade, being on their own, but just recently it seemed like things were looking up._

_It had all come crashing down today._

_As it was, the young elf, barely reaching her twentieth year a few weeks prior, had barely made it through the gates of Silvermoon before they were barred. A young Ranger, who looked little older than her - although their uneven aging always made such things difficult to ascertain - had held the gate for a few more seconds to allow her entry. Belidora was grateful, although she was fairly sure the decision had more to do with the child she carried on her back than it did with her._

_"Where’s mama?" the child cried. "I want her! Let me go!"_

_"I don’t know," Belidora said, stumbling into the city proper. It was a merciful lie. "Stop yelling in my ear, Nindrel. I need to think."_

_"What were those monsters?"_

_"I don’t know. Stop yelling." Another lie. She and her mother had discussed what the rumors were coming out of Capital City in Lordaeron, about how the Prince had slain his own father and destroyed his kingdom, then raised the dead into monstrosities. Belidora had thought the story a bit ridiculous at the time, but she had assured her mother she would not go out past the magical barriers that surrounded the city and protected it from invaders for millenia._

_Another lie._

_The citizens of Silvermoon were obviously nervous, but they moved along quickly and quietly, following the orders of the Arcane Guardians and the Rangers inside of the gates. She knelt down and set Nindrel down, but kept a vice grip on his hand. She could not afford to lose him in the crowd. "See, we’re safe here," she said evenly, still not looking at him. She was not sure if the redness in her eyes was gone yet. "Look at all the Rangers and mages that can protect us."_

_Nindrel still tried to tug his hand away, but she managed to keep hold of it as they walked through the crowds. Silvermoon was always a very hierarchical society - those who used magic, especially the Grand Magisters, were on top, with other magic users and then the Rangers falling behind. She was none of those things, and her late father’s notorious reputation put her family further down still. Now, though, people of all the classes were milling together nervously._

_"Hey! Kid!" a familiar voice called. She turned around to see the Ranger calling to her. He had long red hair and a scar down his left cheek. He had been the one she had spent countless ill-gotten gold on to have him train her to hunt. She had always suspected he knew that she did not really get that money from legitimate means, but thankfully he had never questioned her about it._

_She gripped Nindrel’s hand and walked over to him. "Ranger Roseforge?"_

_She was a little surprised when he hugged her. She had not seen him regularly for a few years, but when he pulled back he was smiling sadly. "I’m glad you made it, kid. Your mother?"_

_Belidora glanced down at Nindrel, who was thankfully looking around and seemed to not be paying attention, then back at the Ranger. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again and she shook her head slightly. The Ranger frowned and patted her on the shoulder, then looked down at Nindrel, kneeling down. "Hey there," he said gently. "I’m the man who taught your sister how to hunt. My name’s Zelin. Do you remember me?" He smiled when he got a hesitant nod, then got back up._

_"You need to get to the ships. They’re evacuating the children in case the city falls," he said, careful to whisper. "I’m sorry, there’s no more room for adults. You got here too late." He paused when he must have seen the fear in her eyes, but clasped his hands on her shoulders. "You have your bow, and you were a fine student. Didn’t you say you wanted to be a Ranger when you grew up all those years ago?" When she nodded slightly, he smiled. "I can’t promise that, but I’m sure we could use the help escorting survivors if it comes to that."_

_She forced a weak smile, but it was held for only a second, as an otherworldly scream pierced through the crowd from outside the gates. Belidora clasped her hands over her ears, letting go of Nindrel’s hand and closing her eyes. It sounded like a woman, but it was so loud that it did not seem to be possible for anyone to make that sort of sound. They were no longer that close to the gates, even._

_After several seconds, it stopped, and she opened her eyes to see that the survivors were looking around, confused and considerably more frightened now. She knelt down and helped Nindrel up again, who was now bawling. He was afraid of loud noises anyway - it was one of the reasons she was not skilled with a gun._

_Belidora looked at Roseforge. "Sir? What was that?" she asked, her voice shaking._

_He turned to her. Before he could answer, a woman’s voice came from outside the walls once again. This one was familiar, although Belidora could not place where from, at least at first._

_"Do as he says. If you obey, he will be merciful."_

_It sounded pained and forced. Belidora noticed that Roseforge was staring at the wall to the city. "Sir?" she asked again._

_When he turned back to her, she could see the distress and sorrow in his brown eyes. She knew at once who the voice must belong to - the Ranger General who had lectured her once when she was a child about not wandering into the woods when the Amani would be hunting them._

_Roseforge frowned at her and seemed to regain his bearings a bit. "Get your brother to the ship and then come find me. Go! Now!"_

#

　

Belidora awoke with a start. It was dawn in Dalaran and she found herself staring at the low ceiling of the infirmary. She had been there a few days by that time. She turned slightly and looked at Phogrim, who was still sound asleep. He would likely be released today. Jof had already been released - as soon as he got some medicine and was in a warm, clean environment, his regeneration seemed to kick in in earnest. Still, although he did not need to stay in the infirmary anymore, he would visit every day and bring them some sort of bizarre treat or toy that he would find in the many shops of the floating city.

　

Others brought by toys or treats as well, and there was always something sweet to eat. They would come from various groups, some from the Alliance and some from the Horde, but they were always for anyone who needed or wanted them. Belidora had to admit begrudgingly that it was a nice gesture - that most of the people within the Alliance were still good, same as the Horde, although it was hard for her to believe it much anymore.

　

She reached up and touched her eyepatch slowly. It was simple - leather and black - but she still hated the look of it, no matter how much Jof tried to tell her she looked great. The scar that extended down her cheek below it did nothing to help matters. She had had to beg the woman caring for her for a mirror to look at it and she wanted to throw it away as soon as she saw it.

　

Could be worse. Could still be in that damned prison. Or dead.

　

Her eye was no longer painful, but it was still weird to not be able to see with it. What was worse, it was the eye she focused with to aim. It would take her some time to learn to do it with the other eye. She wondered if what Phogrim said was true - that maybe the Sunreavers would be able to fix it where she could have near normal depth perception if nothing else. She hoped that it was. It would take forever for her to learn the hard way, and forever was not something that anyone had anymore.

　

She sat up on the cot and rubbed her face, sighing. She was still hooked up to the drip that was hanging above her head, so she could not leave the cot. The woman who had been watching her appeared from behind the counter where she stored her goods. "Are you ready to eat?" she asked cheerfully.

　

Belidora looked over and shook her head. "I’m not very hungry. Thank you, though."

　

Kaliyah smiled at her gently. "You were having a nightmare, weren’t you?"

　

"How did you know?"

　

"You almost fell onto the floor. You’re not a quiet dreamer."

　

The sin’dorei sighed and turned away from the human, looking at her legs. At least they had given her some clean, soft pajamas to wear instead of the dirty clothes that she had been wearing for weeks. "Yes. I was having a nightmare."

　

Kaliyah set a cup of hot tea on the small table next to her and sat down on the chair by her bedside, reaching over and checking her for fever. "Is it about what was done to you?"

　

"No," the huntress said plainly. "I rarely have nightmares from battles." That was not entirely true, but she did not wish to get into specifics.

　

"I have seen victims of countless battles, warrior of the Horde," the healer said gently. "I know these wounds on you and your friends were from no battle." When the sin’dorei looked away, she continued. "Do you wish to tell me where they did come from? It might make you feel better, so you will have no more bad dreams."

　

"I doubt that," Belidora muttered.

　

The woman nodded. "Very well. I will not try to force you, but I’m always here if you wish to speak to me," she said, patting her gently on the cheek. "You will likely be ready to leave within a day or two, although it may be a little while before you are able to fight again. Your friend, Phogrim, should get released today. Seems like you’re the last one."

　

Belidora smiled and looked over at the still sleeping orc. He was snoring, loudly, like he usually did. It was a wonder he never attracted wild beasts or enemy troops when he was out in the field. She picked up the cup of tea and drank from it slowly. It was hot and honeyed and tasted delicious. "But I will be able to fight again?" she asked quietly.

　

"Yes, fairly soon, but it will take some work on your part. Don’t be so eager, Bloodfeather," the healer said gently. "You should be allowed to enjoy peace every once in awhile. There will be many battles to come, I’m sure."

　

#

　

It had been a long time since Belidora had been back to Quel’thalas. It had taken years for the land to begin to heal from the Scourge invasion, and the ugly Dead Scar still ran through the landscape. She was far away from that, and far away from Silvermoon, in fact. As soon as it was apparent that the Sunreaver who was going to look at her eye was held up on more pressing matters, she and her friends had gone deep into Eversong Woods to get out of the city. The mage Liralina had told them she would find them when he came back.

　

That mage _was_ being quite nice to her, although the huntress figured that it was more due to her wanting to use Belidora as a demonstration of the repairing spell than it was actually liking her.

　

"Ready?" Phogrim asked, sitting on a rock.

　

She looked over at him, then back at Jof. Both she and the troll carried sticks with the ends painted to symbolize where the blade of a spear would be. She knew that she was not really supposed to be training, not without her eye being fixed, but this was better than sitting around. They had been called back to Stormheim, anyway, and were expected there the morning after next - going back without being able to defend herself at all would be insane.

　

The sin’dorei nodded and watched as Jof grinned at her mischievously, beckoning her to attack. She gripped the center of the stick and charged at him. He crouched down slight as she got close and she swung the stick at his midsection, but it missed by inches. Her momentum carried her past him, and as she tried to turn to swing at his back she was met with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling onto the grass and leaves.

　

The huntress sat up, rubbing her cheek and wincing. "That hurt!"

　

"Good. Pain be da best teacher," Jof said, twirling his stick between his three fingers. "Dat be da third time ya try dat same thing, elf. Do it again and I hit ya twice as hard."

　

Belidora got up on her feet as Phogrim cast a healing spell on her to heal up her scrapes. He had not yet had to use one on Jof. No, that would require that she actually be able to hit him. For the hundredth time, she cursed her bad vision.

　

She glanced to the side where a couple of Farstriders sat, watching the two spar while they ate their midday meal. The two had come running when she and Jof had begun their first sparring match. She and Jof must have been quite loud, with a lot of yelling. The soldiers had lowered their weapons when she had assured them that she was fine and that Jof was her friend. They had given her a strange look at hearing she was friends with the orc and troll, however.

　

Now, they were laughing. "You better not let that troll beat you, girl. You’re embarrassing us," one of them said in Thalassian. She rolled her eye and looked at Jof again, who was watching her, still smiling. She rushed at him again, this time running toward his right side. At least that would keep him out of her blind spot. He swung his stick at her and she managed to barely duck under it. She swung hers at the back of his thigh, but he reached down and caught it. The troll easily jerked it away from her and tossed it away.

　

The huntress growled and started to go get her "spear" to try again, but Jof blocked her way, holding his own weapon ready to strike. "Seriously?" she asked.

　

"Do ju t’ink da demons gonna let ju walk over and get a weapon?" he asked. "Ju want it, ju gonna have to get to it."

　

Belidora stood up straighter, surveying the situation. Her stick was at least a dozen yards behind the troll, and he was fast enough that she could not simply circle around him like she probably could with Phogrim. She would have to get well within his reach to get past him. She gritted her teeth and ran at him, feinting to his right side again. He swung the stick where it would have hit her squarely in the chest, but she slid in between his legs, getting to her feet a moment later and grabbing her stick.

　

She barely got it before he was behind her, swinging his own stick down at her back with enough force that it was going to hurt. She brought hers up with both hands to block it and winced at the force. Then she swung the painted end around, hitting him a bit harder than she meant to in the gut.

　

Jof winced and grunted, then glanced down at his stomach where she was still holding her stick. He must have seen the painted end poking him, because he immediately fell on his back and began rolling around on the ground.

　

"I be slain!" he yelled, a bit loudly. "Oh, da pain! Bwondasamdi, come take me da ancestors!"

　

"What are you doing?" she hissed. The Farstriders were laughing even harder now, and even Phogrim was snickering.

　

"I figure ju deserve a good act, seein’ as we been doin’ dis for an hour and it be da first time ju won," he whispered to her, winking, then started rolling around and yelling all the louder.

　

"You are such a jerk," she said, slapping him on the back of the head. He responded by grabbing onto one of her boots and jerking her leg out from under her, sending her falling onto her backside.

　

Jof sat up and smiled at her. "I t’ink we should be takin’ a break for food," he said. Belidora glared at him, but then started smiling as well as he stood up and offered her a hand to help her up, pulling her to her feet.

　

They had just sat down to have their meal with there was a flash of blue light and Liralina appeared in front of them. "This is the third place I've been. I thought you said you were going to stay near the Shepherd's Gate," the mage said, annoyance dripping from her voice.

　

"It's cooler out here in the shade," Belidora explained.

　

"Whatever. Look. It's time to go. Are you ready?"

　

The young huntress looked at her two friends. She was not really prepared for what was about to happen, but she did not want to seem a coward either. "Yes. Of course."

　

#

　

Belidora looked nervously at the Sunreaver as she sat in his home. It was fairly large and filled with a multitude of tomes lining the walls on shelves. The man was dressed in resplendent robes and was sitting on a chair in front of her, examining her good eye. Liralina stood next to him, watching carefully - evidently he had promised to teach her the technique. Jof and Phogrim were watching as well, although from a bit further back. Both orcs and trolls had mages, of course, but neither of her friends really quite understood arcane magic the way the sin’dorei did.

　

That’s what the Sunreaver, Zeten Silvervale, was trying to explain to her as he worked to get her to relax. "Stop being so tense," he said gently as Belidora gripped the bottom of the wooden chair even tighter. "This is just a small speck of the arcane that I will use. You have been bathed in it since before you were born, and you sometimes even absorbed it intentionally. It should not hurt in the slightest."

　

"It shouldn’t?"

　

"No. It might feel a little uncomfortable, but it should not be painful."

　

She released her grip on the chair and forced herself to rest her hands in her lap, fidgeting nervously. The mage turned his attention to the tome again and began reading it. Belidora watched him and glanced over at Jof and Phogrim, who both smiled at her reassuringly. At least they were trying to make her feel better. After a few seconds, the mage turned to her again. "Are you ready to begin? It should only take a few seconds."

　

The young huntress took a few deep breaths but nodded. Zeten smiled at her and formed a small ball of energy in front of her face, then gripped her chin gently to hold her head still. "Keep your eye on that. Try your best not to move."

　

She stared at the ball of energy as it began to change colors, obviously in an effort to keep her mind occupied. Right after the fifth color change she felt a stinging sensation in her good eye, but it was gone an instant later. Then, she jumped slightly when Zeten let go of her chin and covered up her good eye with his hand. "You will have to keep it closed for about an hour. I will cover it to make sure you don’t look around. You are welcome to rest here in the meantime. I have a lounge in the other room where you can lay down."

　

He let go of her eye and she felt him pulling a cloth, like a bandanna, around her face, blindfolding her. Belidora sat there silently for a moment until she felt a hand grip hers, a bit tightly. It was definitely not Jof’s or Phogrim’s, and it did not feel like the Sunreaver’s either. "Come on. I’ll take you to the lounge," she heard Liralina say quietly.

　

She got up and followed her, feeling around to make sure she did not get run into anything, but she made it to where she could lie down with ease. The frost mage helped her recline and then Belidora heard her pulling up a chair. "So, what did it feel like?" she asked.

　

"It stung a little."

　

"But did it work?"

　

"I . . . I don’t know," she replied hesitantly. "I hope so. I need to be able to see, to fight." She was a bit surprised by the anxiety in her own voice.

　

"I’m sure it be fine," she heard Jof say. They must have followed them into the room.

　

"What if I can’t see at all? What if it made it worse? What if I’m blind?"

　

She felt someone grip her hand, and to her surprise it was her fellow sin’dorei. "Calm. Down," Liralina said patiently in Thalassian. "I’m sure it worked. You just need to rest."

　

Belidora swallowed and nodded slowly, and the mage let go of her hand. She could hear movement as the others looked around the room.

　

It was the longest hour of her life.

　

Soon, Zeten had come into the room and helped her into a sitting position. "Are you ready?" he asked.

　

"I guess so," she replied hesitantly.

　

"Now, it might be a bit blurry for a moment, but don’t panic," he said gently, reaching up and gently pulling off the blindfold.

　

The huntress blinked her eye and looked around. She could see bleary faces around her that slowly came into focus. She put her hand in front of her face and moved it back and forth. It seemed to look normal, almost.

　

"It will never be as good as having both of your eyes, but this should help it considerably. You’ll still need to practice and get used to the difference, though," he explained, helping her to her feet.

　

She nodded, still looking around the room, trying to determine the degree to which the spell had worked. It was a fairly marked improvement. She turned and stared at the Sunreaver. "Thank you, sir," she said in Thalassian. "How much do I owe you?"

　

He smirked at her and patted her on the shoulder. "It’s free of charge. Just make sure you slay enough demons to have made it worth my time."

　

#

　

Jof wrinkled his nose as he took a sip of the bitter hot drink.　 "What dis be again?"

 

"Coffee.　 It makes you wake up," Belidora said, leaning back on the couch in the Ledgerman's Lounge. "The humans drink it a lot."

 

"It be tastin' awful.　 It bitter."

 

"I told you to get cream and sugar in it," she said.　 "You have to develop a taste for it.　 I only drink it because my mom used to when I was little."

 

Jof frowned and leaned back in the wooden chair he was sitting in.　 "Where our friend be?　 We have t'ings to do before we leave for Stormheim tomorrow."

 

"Knowing him, probably sleeping in."

 

Jof sighed.　 He knew that it would be easier to split up and get their respective errands done themselves, but he knew his friend was not eager to wander around Dalaran by herself.　 Of course, fighting was strictly banned and the sanctions were immediately enforced, but he still could not really blame her.

 

He forced himself to finish the rest of this "coffee" and set the mug down on the table when he saw her smiling, looking over his shoulder.　 "There you are, finally," she said.　 He turned to see Phogrim walking up, looking at a piece of paper, smiling brightly.

 

"What ju so happy 'bout?"

 

The orc handed the piece of paper to Belidora first.　 She stared at it for a moment, a confused look on her face, then handed it back.　 "I can't read orcish that well," she said quietly.　 "What's it say?"

 

"I wrote my mother and sister when we were in the infirmary.　 Told them I was okay.　 My sister wrote back.　 She had her baby.　 A strong boy."

 

Jof smiled at him as he sat down on the couch next to the elf.　 "Congrats be in ordah, then."

 

"Let's go see the baby!" Belidora said excitedly, getting to her feet.

 

"Well, they're in Orgrimmar..." Phogrim started.

 

"There's a portal.　 Come on, come on.　 Let's go see the baby."

 

Jof looked at the orc and snickered slightly.　 It was the first time their friend had acted that excited about anything since they had gotten out of the Alliance camp.　 The troll shrugged.　 "It would be good ta be back home for a few hours, mon."

 

Phogrim smiled.　 "I would like to meet my nephew before we go back, I suppose."

 

The sin'dorei grinned and started walking quickly toward the Horde district.　

 

It took the portal and about a half hour of walking, but they eventually reached the small home that Phogrim's sister had been staying in with her mother in the Valley of Spirits.　 Jof and Belidora stayed behind him a few paces as the orc knocked on the door.　

 

An older orc female opened the door and quickly embraced Phogrim, kissing him on the cheek.　 They spoke to each other quietly for a few moments before the woman noticed the other two.

 

"Don't be shy, you two.　 You know you are always welcome here.　 Come, come," she said, waving them forward.　 Belidora stayed behind the troll, but they both walked forward.　

 

"Hello, Miss Warfang," Jof said politely, looking down at her sheepishly.　 She grasped his shoulders and was obviously looking him over.　 He wondered how much information Phogrim had put into his letter, but he decided to ask later.　

 

Still, she smiled.　 "Call me Kirdika, child.　 How are you doing, Jof?　 It has been so long since I've seen you.　 How are your parents?"

 

"Dey be fine."

 

"Well, don't stay away that long.　 I love when my son's friends come visit," she said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked a little past.　 He saw her looking back at the sin'dorei, who was staying back a bit.

 

"Oh, Belidora Bloodfeather," she said softly, walking over and holding the girl's face gently in her hands.　 She gave her a kiss on the forehead.　 "You look as lovely and sweet as ever, child."

 

The sin'dorei seemed a bit surprised by it, but she smiled weakly and hugged the orc back.

 

"Come on now, inside," Kirdika said.　 "I know who you're here to see, and it's not just me."

 

Jof and Belidora went inside the hut, where Phogrim had already gone.　 He was kneeling down on the ground next to a cot where a younger female orc was sitting, holding a small bundle in her arms.　 Belidora pushed past the troll and he rolled his eyes, but did not say anything to her.　 Instead he crouched down next to where she sat.

 

Phogrim had his hand extended and a tiny green hand was gripping one of his large fingers.　 "He's strong, Seneda," he said, addressing his sister.　 "He will make a fine warrior someday."

 

"Hopefully," the orc said, sitting up a bit straighter, still holding onto the baby.　 She smiled at the other two.　 Jof had only met her once or twice - she was usually out on the front fighting as well.　 He was not sure if Belidora had ever met their friend's older sister, but the orc was kind to the elf.

 

As it was, the sin'dorei was trying to get close enough to see.　 Seneda watched her for a moment before asking, "Do you want to hold him?"

 

"If . . . if I may," the young huntress replied.　

 

Seneda laughed and handed the bundle over, making sure Belidora had a good hold of it before letting go.　 The sin'dorei sat back slightly and let Jof and Phogrim look at him closer as well.　 Jof tickled the child gently under the chin and got a slightly squirming in response, but he opened his eyes at least.

 

"He's beautiful," Belidora said gently to the mother.　 "Look at those brilliant blue eyes."

 

"That means he's destined for greatness," Phogrim said, watching them.

 

"Ya eyes be brown, mon.　 What happen to ju?"

 

"Well, great orcs don't _always_ have blue eyes."

 

Belidora laughed.　 "He's so little.　 Were you this little when you were a baby?"

 

Seneda laughed even louder.　 "Phogrim was even smaller.　 Nothing but a runt."

 

Jof watched as their friend rolled his eyes and smiled.　 Belidora handed the infant back to his mother.　 "What's his name?" she asked.

 

"His father is supposed to name him, but he is fighting on the Broken Isles right now," Seneda said, looking at her son's face.　 "He should be home soon.　 I sent word to him."

 

"I'm sure he'll be excited," the huntress said quietly.

 

"We need to get back ourselves," Phogrim said to his sister, giving her a gentle hug and brushing his nephew's cheek.　 "We will visit as soon as we're done in Stormheim, okay?"

#

Mork picked up one of the supply crates and handed it to Belidora. "Be careful with this one. It has glass inside," he said. He had noticed her glancing around, a bit nervously. The Alliance soldiers around them simply ignored the two or would watch them, but none of them said or did anything. Mork knew that they would not. He had debated whether or not to take the less experienced soldier with him on the supply run, being that it took them right next to the Alliance side of Dalaran. Finally he decided that she needed to get out of the camp for awhile and this was one of the ways she could make herself useful. The commander would not allow her out of the camp until she was completely cleared to fight, and that was still at least a few days away.

　

The orc picked up a few boxes himself and limped over to her. "Stop staring at them," he warned in a whisper. "If they know you’re afraid of them, some of them might try to start trouble with you."

　

"I’m not afraid of them," she snapped back quietly

　

"Then start acting like it."

　

He sighed when she scowled at him and turned away, but he knew he was right. He had no desire to put her through any more pain, but she would have to get over her anxiety sooner rather than later. Might as well give her the shock treatment of it where at least the Kirin Tor guardians would not allow any actual bloodshed between the two factions within their city. He limped after her as she led the way down the stone streets, but at least he noticed that she was no longer looking around nervously.

　

In fact, she seemed to be largely ignoring the Alliance soldiers around her, just staring straight ahead. Mork relaxed somewhat - at least she was trying, even if it was not a perfect effort. She would work through it eventually. "We should only need one more trip," he said, glancing back at the crates they had left behind to get later. "Once we get everything to the portal we can carry it through and be done for the day."

　

No sooner had he gotten that out than he heard her apologizing quickly but politely to someone in Common, followed by the crash of glass. He walked a bit more quickly to catch up with where the sin’dorei had turned around a corner. When he got there, he saw Belidora staring at a tall blonde human female, obviously of quite high rank. The crate with the fragile potion vials was broken at her feet.

　

"I told you to be careful with-" he started to chastise her, then saw the expression on the human’s face. She was glaring angrily, hatefully at the slightly shorter sin’dorei, well out of proportion to bumping into her. She took a step toward the girl, who immediately took three steps backwards quickly.

　

_She’s afraid of her,_ Mork thought, then frowned as the woman smiled, evidently at Belidora’s reaction. They were just outside of the Greymane Enclave and Mork certainly did not want a fight to start, even though the Kirin Tor would swiftly end it. He quickly got up to beside the elf.

　

"I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sure it was an accident," he explained pleasantly, then glanced over at the girl, who was still staring at the woman. "Pick up the crate and let’s go." When she hesitated still, he switched to Orcish and whispered in her ear. "Come on. You can’t get into a fight in Dalaran, you know that. Neither can she."

　

Belidora slowly nodded and knelt down to pick up the crate. Mork knew that most of the vials were probably broken, but they had paid for them and maybe they could salvage at least a few. The sin’dorei got up quickly and backed away from the human, still watching her, but at least she was moving quickly. Good. The sooner they could remove themselves from the situation, the better.

　

They had just started to walk away when the human spoke. "It’s quite all right. It appears the poor thing has a . . . disability," she said pleasantly. "How is your eye feeling, little one?"

　

Mork stopped walking then and turned around to stare at the human. He was slowly putting the pieces together when he heard Belidora behind him say, in a honeyed voice, "Fine. How are your Gilnean friends?"

　

The human narrowed her eyes angrily, but she did not approach again, instead storming off back into the Alliance section. Mork turned around and rushed to catch up with Belidora, who was already walking back to their destination.

　

"Who was that?" he demanded.

　

"I don’t know."

　

"Liar," he snapped, getting in front of her and stopping her progress. "She’s from that damned camp, isn’t she?"

　

"She’s just some bitch," the girl said, walking around him and continuing on.

　

He had to limp, but he managed to keep up. "She’s the one that took your eye, isn’t she? That did all of this to you and your friends," he hissed.

　

"I told you, I lost it in a fight before I was captured."

　

Mork gritted his teeth, but decided to stop the argument, at least for now. Within a few minutes they had made it back into their own section of the city. He put the crates down where they were going to open the portal later and then grabbed her arm. "Come on," he growled, walking to the Filthy Animal. "We need to talk." He could feel her trying to wrench her arm away, but he kept a tight enough hold to keep her from doing that without hurting her.

　

They got inside and he pointed to a stool next to a table, releasing her arm. "Sit," he said. She glared back at him, but did so. He sat down across from her after ordering a few beers and some bread and cheese. She had been his customer for long enough that he had a good idea what she liked. "Now. Who was that woman?"

　

"Never seen her before."

　

He slammed his hand down on the table, startling her. When she looked at him, he continued, "I like you, kid, and I like your friends. Part of the reason I came to the Broken Isles was to help you three. A big part of the reason, in fact," he said. "You’re a sweet girl, but you’re a terrible liar, and I don’t like being lied to."

　

She looked away from him when the innkeeper brought by their order, then back at him again. She still did not answer his question, however, just grabbed her mug and stared at it. He noticed that her hands were shaking somewhat.

　

Mork sighed and spoke with a bit more compassion. "No one believes your fanciful tale about how you got so many grievous injuries, girl. We already know how it happened. The Alliance told us."

　

"They . . . they did?"

　

"Yes. That’s how we knew you were there," he said quietly. He saw that this news obviously upset her, and he sighed. "They also said you fought hard. No one is going to punish you or think you’re a coward for what was done to you. I’m sure you did the best you could. It takes a great deal to survive being at the mercy of your enemies for so long. But if that bitch is the one who did this to you, the Horde needs to know about it."

　

Belidora brought the mug to her lips with her shaking hands and took a drink, then set it down. She was staring at the table, but she nodded. "Yeah. It was her," she whispered.

　

Mork smiled at her sadly and handed her some of the bread. "Then we shall find out exactly who she is. She will see exactly what the price is for her crimes."

　

#

　

"Try again," the Dark Ranger ordered from behind the sin’dorei. Belidora glanced over her shoulder and squinted her eye in the rain. Even though she had her hood pulled up, the downpour was still annoying. She turned around again and looked at the hastily made, makeshift training dummy, then drew another arrow. She had spent all evening fletching them carefully, hoping that the better she made them the easier they would be to shoot. She nocked it and drew it back in her bow and, forcing her eye to remain open, she fired.

　

This one hit its mark and she smiled. She drew another one without looking back at the trainer and did the same motion quickly, not wanting to mess up her concentration. When she loosed it, it struck not far from the first one. The Dark Ranger behind her did not say anything positive, but at least it was not anything negative, either. She drew yet another arrow and fired again. The third one was a little more off the mark, but it at least struck the training dummy, even if it was quite low.

　

"You are getting better," the undead elf said gently. "With just a bit more practice, you should be cleared to go back on patrol with your comrades."

　

Belidora looked back at her and smiled, then frowned as there was sudden chaos at the front of the camp. The Dark Ranger frowned as well and started running toward it, motioning for her to stay put. It was probably a good idea - it was one thing to hit a training dummy, quite another to hit an enemy that was surrounded by friendly forces. Still, she drew an arrow and nocked it in her bow, but hid behind some of the supply crates and watched.

　

A skeletal horse, obviously belonging to one of the Forsaken, trotted into the camp. On top rode someone dressed with a purple hood pulled up over his or her head. The young huntress tilted her head slightly and squinted - the rider looked familiar.

　

"What be goin’ on?" a voice behind Belidora said suddenly, causing her to jump. She turned around to see Tikhuna and her nightsaber standing behind her.

　

The sin’dorei turned back around. "Rider."

　

Tikhuna got behind her and looked. "It be da Warchief," she whispered. Sure enough, the figured pulled the hood down, revealing the Banshee Queen. The troll bent down and whispered in Belidora’s ear. "Where she come from? She be gone for a long time. We be lookin’ for her since before we find you."

　

Belidora was only half paying attention to the troll. Finally she shook her head. "Who knows?" she muttered, then winced at the bitterness in her voice. She hoped that Tikhuna did not notice it. She got up from her kneeling position and sneaked around the side of the crates, ducking into the tent before she was spotted not paying her respects.

　

Tikhuna had followed her in, but Belidora did not really care. She looked at where Jof and Phogrim were seated on the ground, working on repairing some armor and sorting through supplies. They had been going on regular patrols, but they, like her, were eager to get out of Stormheim as quickly as possible. That meant getting as much work done as possible as quickly as possible.

　

"What’s all that noise out there?" Phogrim asked as Belidora sat down next to him.

　

"Warchief’s back," she said, disinterested. She picked up a few of the arrow shafts that she had fashioned earlier and started tying on some feathers with a bit of sinew. It took her a few moments to realize that her two friends were staring at her.

　

"Where the hell has she been?" Phogrim whispered, glancing at the opening of the tent, hoping that no one was coming in.

　

"How should I know?"

　

"Ju guys aren’t bein’ da most respectful," Tikhuna whispered to them, but she sat down as well, handing Belidora one of the other shafts so she could start on a second arrow.

　

Belidora had made probably well over a hundred of them since she had gotten back to camp, some for herself and some for the Dark Rangers. Her own arrows were fletched with blood red feathers that she had dyed with some pigment that came from a few of the herbs around Quel’thalas. At least she remembered something from her mother’s trade other than how to sew an uneven stitch to repair her clothes.

　

"Ju don’t know what we been through," Jof replied quietly.

　

Belidora noticed the female troll give her a questioning look, but she did not say anything, just kept fletching the arrow. After a few moments the troll sighed and started to help her fletch the arrows.

　

The noise at the Warchief’s arrival had died down somewhat outside. _As long as she does not come in here, we’re fine._

Although the Warchief did not make her way inside the tent, at least at that time, her voice echoed to where they were. She seemed to be standing right outside, talking to someone. His rough voice showed him to be another of the Forsaken, possibly the commander. "We are only two miles from the temple, my Queen."

　

"Good. It should not be long now, then. I will depart in the morning and our little . . . issue should be taken care of."

　

"Of course, my Queen."

　

"What temple she be talkin’ about?" Tikhuna whispered to the elf, but Belidora shushed her. The other two had also stopped making as much noise with their sorting of goods and were just listening to the conversation outside.

　

It continued. "Some of my finest Dark Rangers have already set up camp just outside of the base. They should be fine, but they have been there a few days. They may be in need of supplies."

　

Belidora closed her eye and winced, but continued acting like she was fletching the arrow. It would be better to pretend to be working than to let on that they were listening in on the conversation. The flap of the tent opened and she turned to look as the Warchief and the commander of the encampment stepped inside.

　

Tikhuna got to her feet before the blood elf and reached down, helping her up. Jof and Phogrim got to their feet hurriedly as well and the four of them hastily saluted. The banshee smiled gently and waved for them to abandon the formality. "Continue with your work, please," she said pleasantly, although the echoing effect of her voice always made even pleasantries sound a little disconcerting.

　

Belidora gave a slight sigh of relief and sat back down on the dirt, picking up her arrow and continuing to work quickly. She kept her focus on her labor instead of on the Warchief who was now inspecting their supplies as Thad spoke to her, listing what should be in each crate. Jof and Phogrim were doing the same, although Tikhuna was surreptitiously watching the Warchief as she walked around the room, only pretending to work on the arrow.

　

The sin’dorei had just set the arrow shaft down and picked up another when she heard Thad speak, "My lady, these are the three scouts you were told about, and this young huntress is one of the rescuers." Belidora cringed as she heard the Warchief stop walking. She wanted nothing more than to kill that commander at that moment.

　

"All of you, stand," Sylvanas said quietly. Belidora gritted her teeth but did so, careful to keep her expression neutral. She exchanged a glance with her two friends, who also did not seem pleased to have been called out, but were at least being polite.

　

Tikhuna glanced over at the three and then back at the Warchief when she was approached first. "You have done a great service to the Horde, troll. We must work together and look out for one another if we are to survive in this world, and you have exemplified this service. You conducted yourself with honor and you have my appreciation."

　

"Thank ya, Warchief," Tikhuna said, bowing her head slightly. She was much taller than the Banshee Queen, but Sylvanas was a much more commanding presence. The Banshee Queen smiled and turned to the other three.

　

Belidora had backed up to stand next to Jof and Phogrim. The Warchief approached them and the sin’dorei fought to keep from wincing as she walked around them, obviously inspecting them. Their scars were clearly visible, Belidora knew - at least the ones not covered by clothing. Of course, there was Jof who insisted on not wearing a shirt, even in the cold conditions of Stormheim. The young huntress nervously rubbed her arm and jumped when Sylvanas touched her shoulder.

　

The sin’dorei forced herself to look the Warchief in the face and was surprised to see an odd expression in her eyes. It did not quite approach pity and it was certainly not remorse, but it was something. Finally Sylvanas spoke to the three of them.

　

"I can see your scars," she said simply. Her voice was not warm - it never was - but it was not as cold as usual either. "Our enemies, for all their talk of honor, clearly are lacking. It was a terrible thing done to you in your service to the Horde, in your service to me. I assure you, the Alliance will pay ten times over for their crimes against you. I promise you this as your Warchief."

　

Belidora glanced at Jof and Phogrim, who looked back at her as well. They were obviously unsure of what to do or say. Fortunately, Sylvanas continued, "We have other . . . priorities to attend to at the moment. When I return tomorrow, I wish to speak with the three of you. Would you be willing to do that for me?"

　

The three exchanged another glance. It was not like they could refuse the Warchief’s "offer." "Yes, of course, Warchief," Phogrim said dutifully, saluting her sharply. The other two simply nodded and also saluted.

　

"Good. Keep up your work. We will discuss this more later."

　

#

　

Belidora tossed the ball towards the top of the tent as she listened to her two friends argue quietly. It was the middle of the night and none of them could sleep.

　

"I not be meetin’ wit’ her," Jof said quietly.

　

"We can’t say no."

　

"Why not? I’m sure we be able to make up some excuse."

　

"She’s the Warchief! We have to do as she says."

　

Belidora reached over and pet Snowhide with her other hand as she played with the ball. At least the wolf would retrieve it for her if she missed a catch and it went rolling in an errant direction. The wolf lay her head on the middle of the elf’s chest and she rubbed her between the ears. Suddenly the wolf looked up and at the flap. Belidora frowned and, ignoring the two boys, crawled over and looked outside.

　

The rain had stopped and Tikhuna’s white nightsaber met her face to face, causing her to jump. She lifted the tent flap higher and looked up at the troll, who was drinking some tea, evidently to keep out the cold. She thought of something. "Hey, Tikhuna," she whispered. When the troll looked at her, she motioned for her to come inside.

　

When their visitor entered, the two boys stopped talking and looked at her. Belidora crawled back to where she had been lying down and turned back to her. "That temple that Warchief Sylvanas was talking about - have you seen any temple? You’ve been out on patrol for longer than us around here."

　

Tikhuna sat down and looked at them. "Yes. I have," she said quietly. "It be huge, made out of stone and dere be dese . . . t’ings inside. Like humans, but biggah, an’ dressed in gold armor. Women." She shrugged. "I never go inside, though. Dey be dangerous. Dey look a little like da val’kyr we see on da Broken Shore, but dey different, too."

　

The other three looked at each other for quite a long time, then Belidora finally said to them quietly. "She _was_ looking for them, then."

　

Phogrim lay back on his back and stared at the top of the tent. "Of course she was," he muttered bitterly.

　

"Ju guys need ta tell me what ya talkin’ about," Tikhuna said finally.

　

Jof looked at his two friends and then back at Tikhuna. He frowned. "Dat’s what da Alliance be . . . questionin’ us about. About da Warchief lookin’ for more val’kyr," he said quietly. "We tell dem we don’t know nothin’ ‘bout da val’kyr, ‘cause it be da truth. Dey . . . didn’t believe us. Guess dey be right."

　

Tikhuna looked at the three of them with a bit of pity, but finally said, "Ju couldn’t have told dem anyway, even if ya did know. Dat be treason to betray da Warchief."

　

"We could have come up with a better lie," Belidora said quietly, but there was anger in her voice. "You don’t know what it’s like, to be tortured for something that you don’t know enough about to lie about. Maybe if we could have made it convincing they would have stopped."

　

They sat in silence for several minutes until Jof finally muttered. "I wonder if she be able ta get what she wants?"

　

"I don’t really care if she does or not," Phogrim replied. "I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, whether we want to or not."

　#

They did not have to wait quite until the next day to find out something about the temple.

　

It took a few more hours for the four to get into a fitful sleep, but sleep eventually came. Unfortunately, it was soon interrupted by a cannonball landing just outside of the tent they were in, sending shards of rock tearing through the leather. It was a miracle none of the larger ones hit the sleeping soldiers, but it certainly woke them up.

　

Belidora was still only half awake when Jof pulled her roughly to her feet, and she had to hold onto his arm until she got her bearings. The camp had descended into utter chaos outside and there was familiar sounds of troops preparing to do battle. She reached down and grabbed her bow and quiver, calling her pet and following the others outside. As soon as they all got outside the tent, they were met with another blast just to the south of them. Fortunately it sprayed them with only the sand from the beach.

　

"Get to the center of the camp," Phogrim yelled at the others. "We need to find out what’s going on."

　

She and Tikhuna quickly followed the others as the cannonballs continued to fall, but they started to fall short of where the group was running. Within moments they made it to the command tent to find Thad speaking to Nathanos Blightcaller. Well, speaking was probably not the right word - getting shouted at was probably more accurate.

　

"We need to kill that bastard now! Blow his ship out of the water!" Nathanos snapped.

　

"We’re working on it, sir! Right now we have an assault on the camp itself!"

　

Nathanos turned to the small group that had just arrived and pointed back out the door. "Don’t just stand there, you idiots. Go kill those damn mutts now. Get out!"

　

Phogrim sighed and turned back around. "Yeah, okay. Let’s go."

　

Tikhuna whispered over to Belidora. "Ju not s’posed ta be fightin’, girl."

　

"Shut up. I’m fine."

　

"Ju gonna get in trouble."

　

"I'm fine."

　

The troll rolled her eyes at the sin’dorei and pointed to an outcropping of rocks. "Dere be a good place to shoot from. Come on, den."

　

Belidora followed her and they scrambled up the wet, slippery rocks. When they got to the top, the blood elf surveyed her surroundings. In the distance was the ship that was sending cannonballs raining down on the Forsaken camp. It was obviously from the Alliance, of course, and she could vaguely hear someone yelling from it. His voice sounded familiar, but she did not need to worry about that right now.

　

The more immediate problem were the Alliance soldiers assaulting the camp and the armaments the Forsaken had set up along the beachhead. They were mostly worgen. Belidora gritted her teeth and pulled an arrow out of her quiver, nocking it in her bow. She pulled the string back and aimed, but then she hesitated.

　

She had never really enjoyed fighting the Alliance, at least not like the more long-time members of the Horde did. They had once been her people’s allies, although they were woefully poor at that role if the stories she had heard growing up were true. Still, it was not remorse that kept her from loosing her arrow. She kept staring at the worgen, which almost all of the Alliance troops in the assault were, and could only think of those two monsters from the prison.

　

Belidora felt a hard slap on her shoulder and glanced up to see Tikhuna glaring at her. "Ju either start fightin’ or go back to da camp. I not be lettin’ ju stand here ta be hurt," she hissed at the blood elf. "If ju scared, I unda’stand, but ju gonna get killed standin’ here."

　

The sin’dorei huntress gritted her teeth and nodded, looking down her arrow again and aiming at one of the closer, more immediate threats. She loosed the arrow and it struck the soldier in the eye, sprawling him on his back. He reverted to his human form in death and lay perfectly still.

　

_That wasn’t so bad_ , Belidora thought. _Kind of cathartic, really._

She pulled out another arrow and aimed it again, and again she found her target. "Good job," Tikhuna said next to her, then bumped her on the shoulder, motioning with her head down the beach. A couple Horde soldiers that Belidora did not recognize were attempting to run past the Forsaken troops and toward the Alliance ship.

　

"What are they doing?" Belidora whispered.

　

"Dunno. We should be coverin’ dem," she said quickly, sliding down the rocks and waiting for the blood elf to follow her. Belidora did, slightly hesitantly. The worgen were not paying much attention to the troll and sin’dorei, instead focusing most of their attacks on the Forsaken troops protecting the camp. Old hatreds died hard, it seemed.

　

Tikhuna lead the way down the edge of the shore and got to behind some ruined Forsaken artillery. Belidora ducked down behind her and they started loosing arrows in the direction of the worgen who were giving chase to the Horde soldiers. There were not many, fortunately, and it slowed them down enough that their comrades escaped the pursuit. Oddly, they then ran into the water.

　

"Okay then," Belidora muttered. Hopefully _they_ knew what they were doing even if the two hunters did not. She felt Tikhuna grab her arm and pull her back in the direction of the camp. When the blood elf followed the troll let her go.

　

"We need ta be gettin’ back to cover," the troll explained. A cannonball landed just behind them, knocking them off their feet with the blast and the accompanying rain of rocks. It left a few small cuts on the two, but they quickly got to their feet again and scrambled back into the camp, past where their two friends were guarding the gate.

　

"Where the hell did you two go?" Phogrim yelled after them as they got past.

　

"Saw some people dat be havin’ difficulty," Tikhuna started to explain when suddenly there was a massive explosion coming from the water. The four ducked behind the cover of the rocks instinctively, covering their heads, but after a few seconds peeked out.

　

The Alliance ship was in flames and rapidly sinking. They could hear their Horde comrades cheering and laughing at the remaining Alliance troops as they retreated back to their own camp.

　

Tikhuna looked over at Jof, who was trying to catch his breath from the exertion of calling upon the elements. "What dat be all about, I wonder?"

　

Phogrim frowned and looked out the gate at their perennial enemies as the last of them got back into the relative safety of their stronghold. "I bet we can probably guess."

　

#

　

"So, where are you guys going next?" Mork asked Belidora as she helped guide the cart of supplies he was pushing.

　

The sin’dorei glanced over her shoulder slightly and then back down the trail. "I kind of want to go to Highmountain, but Jof and Phogrim don’t. I got to pick last time and, well, it didn’t turn out that well," she said. She glanced at Snowhide as she almost ran into her. "What about you?"

　

"Girl, I am going back to Orgrimmar. I have left the tavern in my wife’s care for entirely too long and she will probably kill me if I stay gone for another few weeks," he laughed. "Besides, I got what I came here for accomplished."

　

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled back at him again. "Thank you again, sir."

　

"Any time," the orc said politely, smiling back and bowing his head.

　

Belidora turned her attention back to the path. It had taken Jof, Phogrim, and Tikhuna a little longer to pack up their cart, but with the slow pace that Mork set they should be only about a half mile back. They were transporting goods from one of the strongholds in Stormheim to the main camp so they could start consolidating. The offensive had abruptly ended and the Warchief had, well, canceled their meeting until a later time. She must not have gotten what she wanted.

　

Oh well.

　

The huntress’s shoulders ached from holding onto the front two handles of the cart and she decided to look around to distract herself from the discomfort. They were on top of a ridge and she could see clearly down below. It was nothing but rocks and trees until she suddenly caught a flash of blue and gold armor.

　

Belidora stopped suddenly and the cart bumped into her hard. She winced and looked back at Mork, then walked over near the edge of the cliff to get a better look. What she saw there caused her to freeze.

　

It was that General, talking to another human, a man of lower rank that Belidora did not recognize. They seemed completely unaware of her presence however. She ducked down quickly and motioned for her wolf to stay still, which thankfully she did.

　

By that time, Mork had set down the cart and had walked up to her. When she ducked down, he did as well and crawled over, looking over the ridge. "That’s her, isn’t it?"

　

Belidora nodded, still staring down off the shallow cliff. "We should wait for the others, though," she whispered, trying to make it sound like she was thinking tactically and not like she was scared. "We may only get one chance." As soon as she said that, though, she saw the woman walking to where the horses were drinking water. The sin’dorei began to panic a little - they did not have their own mounts and would be completely unable to catch up.

　

"It looks like we can’t wait," Mork said quietly. "If you want to do this, I’m here to help, but you need to make your decision now."

　

Belidora nodded, still staring at the two humans, and then reached back, grabbing her polearm. She wished she had brought her bow instead, but it was too late to think about that now. Of course, the polearm might work better, since she was not sure she could keep her hands steady enough to fire a bow accurately, given how afraid she was. The Darkspear who had taught her how to use a spear had also shown her how to throw it. If all else failed, she could at least try that.

　

She ordered her pet to stay and only attack when called, then slowly climbed down the ridge. She hid behind the sparse trees and made her way closer to the General as quickly and as quietly as she could. She was gritting her teeth until her jaw hurt and being careful to not step on any fallen leaves or twigs. It was as if she was stalking very valuable prey - and very dangerous prey.

　

The General’s and her subordinate’s backs were turned, so at least the huntress had that going for her. The blood elf stopped on the opposite edge of the narrow path and crouched down. She would have to strike hard and fast to take them both out before they could defend themselves.

　

"Well hello, little one. I’m surprised to see you again in Stormheim," the General said pleasantly, her back still turned. "Did you not learn your lesson the first time?"

　

Belidora swore an epithet in Thalassian under her breath and - with her cover being blown - charged. The young sin’dorei might not have been particularly strong, even for her small stature, but she made up for it in quickness. The poor man who was evidently the General’s escort barely had a chance to turn his head before Belidora’s polearm sliced through his throat. At least it was a relatively quick death.

　

She turned the polearm toward the General next and tried to swing it down onto the top of her head. The woman was a more experienced fighter, obviously, as she had already drawn her sword and blocked the blow. The block knocked the girl back a few steps and she prepared to swing again when she heard the unmistakable sound of the movement of plate and chainmail.

　

Belidora backed away a few more feet and turned her head, seeing a half dozen more Alliance soldiers quickly cutting off any escape route she had. She glared back at the General, who was now smiling. "It seems that the Horde sent a little assassin. Obviously their Warchief is angry about her own failings," she said to her troops, and then addressed the sin’dorei. "Surrender, girl. You’re outnumbered and surrounded. I know you have enough sense to see that."

　

The huntress glared at her, still gripping her polearm. Mork was supposed to be right behind her. Where _was_ he? Still, even if he did not get there in time - there was no way she could surrender. Being taken alive would allow the witch to take her Light knows where and torture her again. There was no way she was going to allow that.

　

Belidora quickly stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle, then turned and swung her polearm at the nearest soldier. He moved out of the way easily and he and two others advanced, but she kept the weapon in front of her and tried to strike again. This time it connected, but did not penetrate the plate armor he was wearing. Still, it knocked him back slightly, and she struck out again, this time finding the crease in his armor and impaling him underneath his arm.

　

She tried to wrench the weapon free of the twitching body when she felt an armored arm tighten around her throat. She kicked at whoever was holding her, but he held fast. It was impossible to breathe and she began to panic when she heard a scream in her ear and his grip released. She coughed and looked over her shoulder to see Snowhide leaping for the man’s throat. She ignored her pet for the moment and - still gasping for breath - turned her attention to the third of the six soldiers.

　

He was watching his friend trying to fight off the massive frostwolf in horror, which meant he was not paying attention to the huntress. She ran at him, intending to impale him through the throat when she suddenly felt a white hot pain in her side, not far from where the demon had struck her during the battle of the Broken Shore.

　

Belidora tried to ignore it, but her body no longer obeyed her. The ground rushed up at her, but she managed to catch herself on her knees. Her polearm clattered to the ground uselessly. She absently looked at her side and saw the blood rushing from the gaping gash on her ribs. Even through her armor and clothing, she could tell it was a much more grievous injury than she had sustained from the demon. It slowly occurred to her that she was rapidly bleeding to death. She was not sure how to feel about that. Dumbly she looked over her shoulder and could vaguely see the General’s sword, covered in her blood. The woman was approaching and Belidora weakly grasped the skinning knife on her belt. She was determined to draw blood before she lost consciousness.

　

Right when the General reached her, there was a chaotic noise coming from the direction of the other Alliance soldiers. The young blood elf looked in the direction and could vaguely make out an orc, an older orc, striking the soldiers down with a huge battle axe. She watched him for several seconds until she felt a hand gripping her short hair, jerking her to an upright position on her knees before dragging her to her feet.

　

Belidora could feel something sharp pressed to her throat and the General’s voice in her ear, yelling some sort of orders or demands. She could not focus enough to understand what they were, but she still had a grip on the knife. If the woman was going to kill her, she would make her pay for it first. She gripped the handle tightly and blindly swung it behind her head. She could tell from the wetness on her hand that she must have hit something, but she was rewarded for her effort with the blade the woman was holding being dragged across her throat. It was intensely painful, somehow more so than the wound on her side.

　

Still, the woman let her go and Belidora collapsed on her stomach. She barely had the strength to turn her head in time to hazily see the General raising her sword to strike her head off. She closed her eyes, waiting for the killing blow, but it never came. Instead, she could hear the echoing sound of metal striking metal, but it sounded so distant, like she was outside a cave and it was deep within. She hazily opened her eyes and through her darkening vision she could see that orc again, fighting with his axe against the woman with her sword.

　

He was doing well, although he moved slowly. Belidora could only vaguely recall his name in her stupor. Mork, was it? He seemed that he might actually win. It looked as if that horrible witch who had tormented her all that time would finally meet the justice she deserved.

　

It was not to be so. The woman parried a particularly powerful blow and, when the old orc tried to regain his balance, she thrust her sword up, cutting clean through his chest and out his back. He did not cry out but merely jerked unnaturally before collapsing at the human’s feet.

　

Belidora forced herself to focus, although it took almost all of the little strength she had left. She stared at the orc, who was lying mere feet away, and tried to find any sign of life from him. She knew the answer before he had hit the ground, but she refused to accept it. The General had stepped back a few feet, it seemed. She was either tending to her own wound or she simply wanted to watch her enemies suffer.

　

The sin’dorei managed to drag herself over to her comrade and touch his massive hand with one of her own. It was completely limp, and his eyes were staring at the forest sky, obviously unseeing. "Please," she whispered weakly. "Please wake up."

　

The huntress was only vaguely aware that the General was limping back to her horse and climbing into the saddle. She could hear muffled hooves hitting the forest floor as her probable murderer fled. She did not bother to look up to see where she went - it did not really matter. It was over - she lost. She squeezed the orc’s hand tighter and stared at him, her darkening vision beginning to blur as well. She was not sure if it was from the loss of blood or the tears in her eye.

　

The blood elf could hear more disembodied voices around her. They seemed to be talking gibberish or at the very least a language she could not understand. She vaguely wondered if the trolls were right - maybe the Loa were what took your soul when you died? Or maybe it was the ancestors, like the orcs and Tauren claimed?

　

She suddenly felt the sensation of movement and she closed her eye for what she assumed was just a moment. When she opened it again, she could see the gray Stormheim sky, as well as another, different orc face staring down at her. Two other voices - one a man’s and one a woman’s - yelled at each other in an unintelligible jumble of sounds.

　

A name came to Belidora as she stared at the hazy orc above her - Phogrim. That was his name, right? He was a healer, she vaguely remembered. "Please," she whispered, although she was not sure if any sound came out. "Please, you have to fix him. Please."

　

She could see the younger orc look above her head at where the old orc was lying and could see him close his eyes before looking back down at her. "Oh Beli…" he said sorrowfully, or at least that was all she could make out.

　

The other two were still yelling, and it slowly occurred to the sin’dorei they were speaking another language. Zandali? They were definitely trolls and the blood elf forced herself to remember their names - Jof and Tikhuna.

　

"Who do dis to ju?" the male troll demanded loudly.

　

She could hear the orc try to tell him to shut up as he cast his spells, giving her at least the strength to speak, although just barely. She whispered the only halting word she could get out. "General."

　

Belidora could once more hear the two trolls start another heated discussion, but this time in a language she could understand. She could hear the male say in a dark voice, dripping with anger, "Come on. We end dis now. Ju and I, we bring back dat bitch’s head to Orgrimmah."

　

She could hear the healer orc yell after them to wait and come back and help him, but they had already left. Belidora opened her good eye and could see his face blurredly, although it was beginning to get darker and darker. "Stay with me. Please stay with me," she could hear him pleading.

　

Belidora tried to stay awake, tried to focus on the healer, but the cold and blackness overtook her vision within the next few seconds. The last thing she felt was him desperately casting spells over her and how very cold the forest floor had become.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:  Characters, situations, settings, and the like belong to Blizzard Entertainment.  Used without permission or profit.**_  
  
 _ **This took awhile to come out and it's largely a filler chapter, but I promise I'll be faster in the future.  Enjoy!**_  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
The evacuation from the Broken Shore had been a disaster, as confusing and chaotic as the battle preceding it had been, but Phogrim would have gladly had some of the chaos back now.  Now it had been replaced with an uncomfortable quiet and a feeling of complete and total helplessness.    
  
He glanced over at the sin’dorei priestess as she calmly prayed and begged the Light for aid.  She was incredibly composed, even though her own blood plastered her light blonde hair to her forehead.  He had asked her her name when they first got to the tiny cramped Captain’s cabin and she had shortly told him in a snapping voice, but he could not remember it now.  His first attempt to be friendly had gone so well that he was afraid to ask again.  Typical arrogant blood elf.  She was incredibly skilled though, he had to admit, and had obviously done this for a very long time, centuries perhaps.    
  
She was obviously much older than his huntress friend, whom he knew was lying in the hull of the ship, bleeding and injured like almost everyone else that had managed to survive.  Phogrim knew that for many of the more badly injured, their survival was not for long.  He gritted his teeth and looked down at the troll in front of him.  When the sin’dorei took a few minutes to rest, he started again, calling upon the elements to heal the wounded Warchief.  
  
The tendrils of water that emerged went to the gaping wound that would not seal, no matter how many times the healers inside tried.  The tendrils touched and he thought for a moment that they would work, but instead the fel green blood seeped further out of the wounds. Phogrim quickly stopped, fearing he had only made it worse.  They had used bandages to keep him from bleeding out, but it just appeared that it seemingly trapped the taint inside, spreading it through the veins.  They were a sickening black color now.  It was unlike any poison he had ever seen.  
  
The shaman glanced over his shoulder as Baine Bloodhoof, who was thankfully not paying attention to them for once.  Instead, the young Tauren chieftain was speaking to one of the few other healers in the room, a Forsaken priest.  
  
“Why isn’t it working?” Baine whispered.  “Surely there is something else you can try.”  
  
Phogrim frowned slightly at him, since he was not watching.  He felt bad for the young Tauren, whom if he recalled correctly was no older than him.  He had lost his father to poison only a few short years before, and unless Phogrim and the others figured this out, he would lose another man he so obviously looked up to.  
  
Warchief Vol’jin let out a painful sounding cough and Phogrim turned his attention back to his patient.  The troll’s eyes, which had been closed for the last several minutes, were open then and looking around the room.  He reached a shaking hand up and wiped some of the greenish black blood from his lips, then let it fall heavily back onto the table.  “It not gonna work, Baine,” he said tiredly.  “I be tellin’ ju dat for hours.”  
  
Phogrim stepped back quickly to let the Tauren past him.  The young chieftain’s nostrils flared.  “You can’t just give up, Warchief.”  
  
The troll waved his hand.  “I not be dead yet.  It not be time, but it be comin’.  How far we be from Orgrimmah?”  
  
“We are still quite a distance.  About seven hours if the winds keep up, Warchief,” Baine said dutifully.  
  
“Den I have ‘bout seven hours if da spirits not be lyin’ to me,” Vol’jin said painfully.  He turned his attention to Phogrim and to the priestess.  “And ju two.  I tell ya ta leave, did I not?  I t’ink I tell you ‘bout five times now.”  
  
The priestess spoke for the first time in hours, “Warchief, there might still be other things we can try.”  
  
He waved his hand at her.  “I still be ya Warchief, elf.  I not be havin’ ju disobey me,” he said, a bit harshly, but his voice was so weak that it did not quite command the authority that it usually did.  He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Phogrim glumly noticed that one was completely clouded over and likely blind.    
  
The shaman sighed and bowed his head.  “Of course, Warchief,” he said quietly and started to back up to leave.  The priestess was going to follow him out when Vol’jin coughed.   
  
“Wait,” the troll said weakly.  The two healers exchanged a sad glance and stepped forward again.  The troll looked up at them and rubbed his face.  The war paint that was always there was mostly wiped off by sweat and the healers trying to stop the fever with wet cloths.    
  
“I thank ya for what ju did today.  I know ju tried.  I be cheatin’ Bwondasandi outta his prize for too many times, is all.”  He coughed again.  “I be very proud of ju all, of my Horde.  We be beatin’ da demons soon, don’t ju worry.  Fa now, though, I need ju to be helpin’ da others out dere.  Get dem bettah and strong so dey can fight.  We be needin’ all of dem.  Now go on.”  
  
Phogrim swallowed, feeling sick, but he dutifully saluted and turned around quickly.  He felt like he was going to cry, but he had not cried since his father had died when he was young and he did not want to show weakness.  He just felt so incredibly helpless and weak.  Although the Warchief thanked him, he had been able to do absolutely nothing.  A wave of nausea hit him as he and the blood elf approached the door and a thought occurred to him - what if the others had fallen to the same fel corruption in their wounds?  He braced himself.  
  
“Baine, see dem out, make sure dey be obeyin’,” he heard Vol’jin say quietly to the Tauren, who soon approached.  “Den come back.  I need ta be talkin’ to you.  Dere be a decision I be havin’ ta make.”  
  
#  
  
Phogrim awoke slowly and had to pull his face off of the cot.  He blinked and looked around to find himself in the Filthy Animal Inn.  The inn was aptly named, as the frequent comings and goings of Horde soldiers had left it a bit of a mess, no matter how much the innkeeper and barkeeps tried to clean.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then finally found Jof sitting next to him on the adjacent cot with a worried look on his face.  
  
“How did I get here?” Phogrim muttered tiredly.  His head was throbbing worse than anytime since the Broken Shore.    
  
Jof frowned at him.  “I brought ju here.  Ju were stumblin’ from bein’ too tired.”  
  
Phogrim blinked slowly, then in a moment of horror he remembered why he was so exhausted.  He looked at the troll and noticed the blood on his pants.  He’d been the one that had carried their friend back there, since Phogrim had been too exhausted to do so.  He hesitantly asked, “Is she…?”  
  
“She . . . be alive.  Very weak, though.  She lost a lotta blood, mon.  If ju hadn’t been dere, she woulda died already,” Jof said sadly.  “She still not wake up.  Tikhuna be watchin’ her.  Dey kinda kicked me out so dey could bandage her wounds.”  
  
Phogrim rubbed his face again and sat there, his elbows on his knees.  The troll was right - he felt absolutely drained.  He looked back up at his friend and sighed.  “How did this even happen?  It was supposed to be our last day in Stormheim.  It was . . . supposed to be Mork’s last day in the Broken Isles at all,” the orc said sadly.    
  
When he had at least gotten Belidora’s breathing and pulse steady enough for him to dare to look around, Phogrim had had at least a few seconds to look around at the Alliance corpses, as well as the old orc.  From what he could tell, between the two Horde soldiers and the frostwolf, they had done a good job slaying their enemies.  That was, until what appeared to be a sword had cut the young blood elf’s side and throat and pierced the old warrior’s heart.  At least his friend had had the strength to tell him who wielded it.  
  
Jof was rubbing his blue mohawk and sighed as well.  “It look like dey got ambushed,” he said quietly.  
  
“Or they ambushed the Alliance,” Phogrim muttered.  He looked over at the weapons the trolls had picked up - the polearm, the axe, and the skinning knife - when the escorts for the third cart had finally found them.  All the weapons had blood on them, mostly from the humans.  He saw Jof look up at him and shrugged.  “I love our friend like she’s my sister, but she’s incredibly reckless.  There’s a difference between not obsessing over your own safety and chasing your own death.  You know how she is.”  
  
“Can’t say I be blamin’ da girl.  Dat bitch did horrible t’ings to her an’ to us.  She be as cruel as any of da demons of da Legion,” Jof said quietly.  “We need ta find dat bitch.  It be like a nightmare and da only way to wake up is ta kill her.”  
  
“I know,” Phogrim said.  He got up a bit dizzily and looked down at the first floor of the inn.  “We’ll need a plan for that, though.  First we need to go check on our friend.”  
  
The two walked downstairs and out of the inn.  He noticed the troll was walking very closely to him, probably to catch him if he fell.  It was not like Phogrim minded - he felt absolutely horrible.  Of course, that was at least partially Jof’s fault - running off like a fool after a dangerous enemy and leaving him to do all of the healing by himself.  That was a fight for another time, though.  He had to at least get his throbbing headache under control before he argued with the Darkspear over that.  
  
They entered the Dalaran Infirmary quietly and walked over to where the young blood elf was lying.  Her bloody clothes and armor were piled up in the corner for them to take.  Next to her sat Tikhuna, resting her head on her hand, her elbow propped up on a small side table.  She was watching the elf sleep, her own eyes half closed.    
  
“How’s she doing?” Phogrim asked quietly, reaching over and squeezing the girl’s hand gently.  It was terribly cold and her skin was ashen.  There was no reaction to the touch, although he did not expect there to be any.  
  
“Dey say she should live,” Tikhuna said quietly, her voice sad.  “She just very weak right now.  Hopefully she wake up soon.  Da sooner, da bettah.”  The troll paused and rubbed her face.  “Dis be all my fault.”  
  
“What?  No it’s not.”  
  
“We shouldn’t ‘ave let them go ahead, an’ I shouldn’t have gotten Mork to come at all.  He be havin’ no business fightin’ in the Broken Isles.  I thought he could help,” she said quietly.  “I take a fatha’ away from his kids.”  
  
“No,” Jof said quietly.  “Dat woman take ‘im away.  We be havin’ our revenge soon, don’t worry.”  
  
#  
  
It was so cold.  
  
The young sin’dorei could see nothing but darkness. Something was weighing her down. She moved her fingers slightly, although such a thing was an almost heroic effort, and felt the soft leather of a cot and not the cold mud of the Stormheim forest floor. She felt a bit of panic well up in her mind as she considered the possibility that the damned Alliance bitch had dragged her off somewhere, but she forced herself to calm down. If she had been taken prisoner, it was unlikely that the woman would have been showing her the kindness of letting her rest in a warm bed.  
  
She tried to raise her arms slightly. They were underneath something else soft, but she felt no shackles or straps holding her down. She moaned and gritted her teeth, trying to sit up, but a sharp pain in her side shot through the rest of her body before she raised even an inch. She moaned louder and lay back down.  
  
“Hey,” she heard a voice say foggily. It was a woman, a human from Stormwind, judging by the accent. “Don’t try to move. You’re very badly hurt.”  
  
Belidora felt a warm hand touch her forehead and she jerked away from the touch, but the woman was gentle. “It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re in the infirmary. You’re safe here. No harm can come to you.”  
  
The huntress opened her eye slowly. Her vision was blurry at first, but it slowly cleared to show the healer stooped over her bed, her hand still on her forehead. The woman had a worried look on her face, but she moved her hand from her forehead and brushed her cheek gently. “Can you see me alright?”  
  
Belidora nodded and tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as Tanaris. She whispered weakly, “Water?”  
  
The woman nodded and put a hand behind her head. The girl winced as her throat now hurt as well, but she managed to sip a little bit of the water that the woman offered from the clay cup. She relaxed a little and stared at the ceiling. The words the woman had spoken to her started to make a bit more sense. She was in the infirmary in Dalaran, and that was what’s her name . . . Gale. Kaliyah Gale. Why was she in the infirmary, though?  
  
She felt her heart start to beat faster as she looked over at the healer.  “M-my friend . . . he was hurt . . . where?” she managed to whisper.  Kaliyah looked down at her and reached down, grabbing her hand gently.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.  She did not need to say any more than that.  
  
Belidora looked away and closed her eye.  She lay there a few moments before the woman reached over gently and wiped the tears from her face.  The huntress looked up at her and choked out,  “He s-saved me.”  More than once.  
  
“I know.  Your friends said he fought well, that you both did.  They were upset too,” she said gently.  “They brought you to me.  You’ve been here for a few days.  They should be back soon to check on you.  I sent them to go eat - they would have stayed here watching you and starved if I let them.”  The human finished wiping the tears from the blood elf’s face.  “I’m very sorry for what you’ve been through.  Both times.”  
  
Belidora frowned.  “They told you?” she whispered.  
  
“No.  They were talking to each other, though, and probably thought I could not understand Orcish,” she said quietly.  “I made it a point to learn both Orcish and Common.  Common tends to not calm down delirious Horde soldiers very well.”  She smiled sadly.  “I won’t tell anyone.  Don’t worry.  I do not approve of the current conflict between the Alliance and Horde, and especially not when I see what it does to both.  The Legion sends me enough work without us helping them.”  
  
Belidora stared back up at the ceiling and finally got her breathing back under control.  The effort and stress of staying awake was beginning to make her feel dizzy, but she wanted to be awake when they got back.  She wanted to see someone familiar to her so very badly, and as kind as Kaliyah was to her, that was not who she wanted.  “Wh-when can I leave?” she asked weakly.  
  
“You’re always so eager to go back to fighting, dear.  When you’re strong enough.  You can’t even sit up right now,” Kaliyah said quietly.    
  
“You’re awake!” someone said from the door.  The elf looked over and saw the bleary outline of a troll and an orc standing there, silhouetted against the sun.  They entered and she slowly made out the faces of Jof and Phogrim.  Kaliyah smiled and patted her hand, then moved and let them sit down next to her.  
  
“Hey,” Phogrim said gently to her.  “How are you feeling?”  
  
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but tears filled her vision again.  The two frowned at her worriedly.  “I want to go back to Orgrimmar,” she whispered weakly.  “I don’t want to be in Dalaran anymore.”  
  
Phogrim sighed and squeezed her hand.  “I know, I know.”  
  
Belidora looked at him sadly, shivering, until she felt something soft land on her chest.  She looked up and saw a small green doll with stitched X’s for eyes staring at her.  She blinked with her one good eye and grabbed it shakily with her other hand.  “Wh-what is…?”  
  
“Don’t be cryin’,” Jof said gently.  “See?  We got ju some gifts.  Here da flowers.”  He set a small vase on the table next to her bed.  “No more tears now.”  
  
She blinked slowly but smiled weakly, looking at the doll.  It was a child’s toy, but it was kind of cute.  “Thank you guys,” she whispered.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Phogrim said, still worried.    
  
“I hope ju like dem.  Da Sunreaver we talk to say dat what ju people get when ju sick.  Seem kind of odd, but whatever,” the troll said nonchalantly.  
  
“What do trolls give?” she whispered weakly.  
  
He shrugged.  “Lots of t’ings.  Skulls, mostly.  But it be ya culture ta give flowers an’ crap like dat.  I not be one ta judge ya culture, girl.”  
  
#  
  
Winter was fast approaching and the night air in Dalaran was rapidly turning colder.  As such, the normally open door to the Dalaran Infirmary was shut against the chill.  Belidora was curled up in the fetal position under her blanket, clutching the small ragdoll that her friends had given her.  She had not had a toy like that since she was a small child, but she had to admit that it did help her relax enough to sleep.    
  
She was in the half asleep phase when she heard the door open and close quietly.  She curled up tighter under the blanket to try and block out the sudden burst of cold air.  Some poor soldier must have gotten injured down on the Broken Isles, so at least she would have company.  Hopefully it was nothing too serious.  Not that she bothered to turn around and look, of course.  
  
Just as the young elf was about to drift into a deeper sleep, a hand grabbed her on the shoulder, forcing her onto her back roughly.  She slowly opened her good eye, confused and waiting for her vision to adjust to the darkness.  Kaliyah would not grab her like that, she thought hazily.  She opened her mouth to question whoever it was, but a hand clamped down on it roughly, silencing her.  That action brought her out of her daze immediately and she instinctively reached up, grabbing the person’s wrist and trying to squirm away.  
  
“Stay still, you little mongrel,” she heard a familiar voice hiss.  
  
 _No no no no no_ , she thought frantically, trying to dig her nails in, hoping to get the witch to let her go long enough for her to scream for help.  She was so weak.  She did not remember the woman being that strong.  She struggled for several seconds until the woman evidently got tired of her resistance and flashed a long, gruesome looking dagger in front of her face.  “Unless you want to be completely blind, you will stop squirming,” she hissed at the blood elf.  
  
Belidora froze and nodded her head as much as she could with the woman still holding her mouth.  The woman smiled down at her, stroking her cheek gently with the blade, not deep enough to cut her but it was definitely enough to terrify her.  The sin’dorei closed her eyes and shivered.  She did not bother trying to hide her fear - she knew damn well that the woman knew how afraid she was.    
  
“Are you going to be quiet now?  You don’t want anyone else to get hurt trying to help you, do you?  We saw how that worked out for you last time,” the woman said mockingly.  
  
Belidora kept her eye closed but nodded silently.  The woman pulled her hand away and knelt down next to her bed, still pressing the knife to her cheek, running it up and down her face gingerly.  “Are your friends here, girl?  Is that where you got these lovely wildflowers?” she asked, gesturing with her head at the side table.  “And what is this?”  She grabbed the toy from her - Belidora offered no resistance on that - and looked at it.  “Well, that’s absolutely adorable.”  
  
“Please just leave me alone,” the sin’dorei whispered.  
  
“Now, what makes you think I’m going to do that?  You tried to kill me, remember?”  As she spoke, she pressed the knife a bit tighter to her cheek, drawing a trickle of blood.  
  
“I’m sorry.  Please…”  
  
“You did not answer my question.  You know how angry that makes me.”  
  
Belidora’s mind raced - they were at the Filthy Animal, probably fast asleep.  She did not want to tell the woman that, but then again she could not get past the protective barrier around it.  Of course, there was supposed to be a barrier surrounding her bed as well - one that would only allow authorized healers and other allies to reach her.  She gritted her teeth as the woman made another thin slice on her her cheek.  “They . . . they’re on leave.  Went back to Orgrimmar for a week.”  
  
“They wouldn’t leave you here in the Infirmary alone.  They care about you.  It’s somewhat surprising, really, that any of you are capable of caring about anyone but yourselves,” she said gently, then her tone shifted to anger.  “You know you shouldn’t lie to me.  Bad things can happen, remember?”  As if to prove her point, she slowly moved the blade up toward the elf’s good eye.  
  
“They’re at the Filthy Animal,” Belidora blurted out weakly, but a bit loudly.  “The Horde inn.”  
  
“See?  That wasn’t so hard,” she said.  “Let’s go visit them, shall we?”  
  
Belidora felt herself being forced onto her stomach and her hands pulled behind her.  Leather straps began binding them together.  She did not struggle - she knew it would do no good - but she said shakily, “I can’t walk.  I can’t even stand.  I’ll never make it all the way across Dalaran.”  
  
“For your sake, you better be able to make it,” the woman growled at her, finishing the binding.  It was painfully tight, almost cutting off her circulation.    
  
The sin’dorei closed her eye as she was pulled into a sitting position and then onto her feet.  She swayed back and forth dangerously - she had not been lying about being unable to walk - but she used all of the energy she could to try and stand still for a moment.  Maybe going to the Filthy Animal would not be such a bad idea after all.  There was only one entrance and exit, and it was right where there were liable to be a dozen Horde soldiers stopping for a drink during late night supply runs.  
  
An Alliance officer dragging in a bound and bleeding hostage that she snatched out of a sickbed would probably make those drunk Horde soldiers quite angry.  They were liable to tear her limb from limb.  So, it was settled then. She would be an obedient and passive prisoner - so hopefully the woman would not injure her further - and she would let her comrades take care of the bitch.  
  
 The woman dragged her along and the huntress barely stayed on her feet.  She winced as they got outside and her bare feet landed on the cold cobblestones of the Dalaran streets.  Something was wrong - the streets were totally and utterly abandoned.  They never were normally - even in the dead of night there were missions to be done and Kirin Tor Guardians patrolling.  She stumbled along after the woman weakly and tried to look around, but the witch grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her face down.  
  
It took a few minutes for Belidora to realize that they had turned the wrong way and she shakily spoke up.  “It’s the other way,” she whispered.  The woman did not turn them around, instead dragging her a bit faster so that every few steps she stumbled.    
  
They rounded another corner and the blood elf felt a concentrated swirl of arcane energy before her.  She managed to glance up slightly to see a portal.  It was unclear where it had come from - it was in the middle of the street and there were no mages conjuring it.  More disturbingly was the fact that instead of showing a familiar city (even an Alliance one), it showed nothing but blackness.  
  
“Did you really think I’m stupid enough to take you into your own territory, girl?” the woman said mockingly.  “If you want to set up an ambush, you should try to disguise it better than that.  Come on now, child.  We are going to have so much fun together.”  
  
Belidora stopped walking and tried to dig her bare heels into the stone, shaking her head.  She could not see where the portal went, but it was certainly nowhere she wanted to go.   The woman tried to pull her forward, but she dropped to her knees.  There had to be someone wandering around the streets of Dalaran other than them.  
  
“Help me!  Please!” she yelled.  
  
The woman clamped her hand over her mouth again, trying to muffle her screams, but there was the sound of running feet hitting the ground.  Belidora looked over to see a Tauren she did not know round the corner.  When he saw them he pulled the axe off of his back and approached.  “Hey!  Leave her alone!” he yelled.  
  
He did not get to them in time.  The woman pulled out the knife again.  “If you will not come quietly, then we will just end this here,” she said darkly, plunging it toward the sin’dorei’s heart.  
  
#  
  
Kaliyah jumped when she heard a crash in the other room, interrupting her paperwork.  She dropped the quill and rushed in to find her only patient curled up on the floor next to her cot, shaking.  She walked over to her quickly and touched the girl on the shoulder gently.  That was rewarded by the girl swinging feebly at her face with her hand.  She easily blocked the blow and grabbed onto her wrists to keep her from trying again.    
  
“Hey, calm down,” she said gently. The sound of her voice seemed to panic the young blood elf and she tried to jerk back weakly, but Kaliyah held her until she stopped struggling.  She glanced over the soldier - she did not seem to be injured from her fall onto the stone floor other than some faint bruises, but she was trembling and wild eyed.  She tried switching to Orcish, cursing herself for not bothering to learn the blood elves’ native tongue.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.  It’s just a bad dream.”  
  
The girl’s eye seemed to focus slowly and she stared at Kaliyah, but nodded silently.  The healer smiled at her gently and felt her forehead.  She was developing a fever, it seemed, probably from staying up talking to her friends instead of getting rest.  She would have to speak to them about not coming by quite as often.  She brushed her short raven hair out of her face and gave her a gentle hug.  “It’s okay.  You just need to rest.”  
  
“Should I come back?” a voice said from the door.  Kaliyah glanced up to see Jenren Sunsorrow standing in the thresh hold, carrying a tray of healing potions.  He was another blood elf and one of her most resourceful alchemy suppliers.  
  
She shook her head.  “Can you help me get her back in bed?  I don’t want to put any strain on her,” she asked.  
  
He nodded and walked over, kneeling down and scooping up the girl in his arms.  She let out a strangled yelp and he paused, but then quickly set her down on the bed.  “Sorry, sorry.”  
  
“She has a pretty good gash on her side and throat,” Kaliyah said belatedly.  She reached over and covered her up with the blanket, then rested the ragdoll back on her chest.  “She’s a bit delirious as well.  Poor thing.  Do you have any sleeping potions?  Ones that will block out dreams and visions?  She needs to rest and I don’t think I’m going to get her to go to sleep naturally.”  
  
He nodded and walked over to his tray, picking a small orange one up.  He knelt down beside her and opened it up, holding it up for her to drink.  Instead, she turned over on her side and was muttering something in distress.  Minn’da.  She had heard the word before from other patients whose native language was Thalasian, and Kaliyah saw the alchemist grimace.  He tried again, saying something to the girl gently in Thalassian.  She finally allowed him to administer to potion to her and ducked her face back under the blanket.    
  
The alchemist reached over and put a hand on the patient’s shoulder gently, singing a quiet song in Thalassian until her breathing steadied.  It was obvious the potion had worked and she was fast asleep, hopefully no longer dreaming.  Kaliyah looked up at him.  “Thank you.  You know, I’ve told you before that you should consider coming to work for us.  Your expertise in making bandages and potions would be invaluable on a full time basis.”  
  
He smiled at her sadly but shook his head.  “I don’t think I could do this all day long,” he said quietly.  “What happened to this one?”  
  
“Got into a skirmish with someone she should not have, I suppose.”  
  
He shook his head sadly and clicked his tongue, then turned back to his potions.  “These are all of the ones you ordered, ma’am.”  
  
“Thank you again,” she said quietly.  “Jenren?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What was she saying?”  
  
He frowned again and glanced over at the girl, shaking his head slightly.  “Minn’da.  It means‘mama.’”  
  
#  
  
Captain Mikal Blackwater walked through the darkened streets of Dalaran silently.  The campaign in Stormheim had all but drawn to a close, but his small encampment was left in service to continue gathering any supplies that the Alliance may need.  They also were in charge of continuing contact with their newfound allies, of course, although that had proven to be a little more difficult than he realized.  Such odd creatures they were.  
  
At least they got the camp rebuilt.  
  
He stopped by the Ledgerman’s Lounge and picked up some coffee to go, then headed toward Krasus’s Landing.  He was taking a break from work, but that did not mean he could not go check on the Lieutenant and make sure nothing had burnt down on the interim.  Besides, the high altitude of Dalaran made the rapidly changing season all the colder in the city.  At least the mages had tried to fix it, but it did not always work.  
  
He walked up the steps to where he could take a gryphon back to the camp, then saw someone sitting near the ledge.  It was a female elf, dressed in pajamas, looking out toward the fel storm with her knees pulled up to her chest.  She seemed familiar.  He tilted his head and looked at her, moving a bit closer.  She must have heard him, because she turned around for a moment, then just as quickly turned back around, obviously to hide her face.  He could see the green glow of one of her eyes, showing her to be a blood elf, and noticed the other one was covered with an eyepatch.  
  
Mikal knew she had looked familiar.  He considered for a moment that he should probably just leave her alone, but he was a little curious as to why she was out there.  He decided he could get a bit closer while he decided when she said quickly, “What do you want?”  Her voice was angry, bitter, and sounded incredibly weak, as if she were sick.  
  
He crossed his arms, but did not answer her question.  “I see you made it out of Stormheim.”  
  
She glanced back at him.  “And?” she growled.  
  
“Good.  I’m glad,” he said simply, sitting down next to her, but well out of her reach.  He saw her look at him oddly, as if she did not believe him, and continued.  “If I wanted you dead, I had plenty of opportunity to get what I wanted, remember?”  
  
“I could push you off, you know.  Probably get a reward,” she muttered, looking back at the fel storm.  
  
“You could, but you won’t,” he said.  “For one thing, I’d just pull you down too.  Besides, I spared your life, and I believe you have at least some honor.”  When she did not look at him, he smiled.  “Besides, Winter Veil is coming up, and you wouldn’t get anything from Greatfather Winter.”  
  
The young blood elf snickered, seemingly caught off guard by the remark, then immediately grimaced.  She is injured, Mikal thought.  He could tell from the moonlight that her already fair skin was much paler than it should be.  He suddenly remembered where he had seen the loose pajamas she was wearing before - when he went to visit one of his own soldiers in the Dalaran Infirmary after they had been injured falling off a cliff in Stormheim.    
  
“You’re supposed to be in the infirmary, aren’t you?”  
  
She wordlessly nodded.  “I sneaked out.  Couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Mikal frowned at her.  She should have long since recovered from the injuries at the camp.  Something else must have happened, but he doubted that she would tell him what it was.  Instead he looked up at the night sky as well.  It was swirling unnaturally with green clouds and lightning, as it had since the Legion came.  
  
To his surprise, the young blood elf broke the silence. “I have a question for you,” she said bluntly.  Without waiting for a response from him, she continued.  “What is that General’s name?”  
  
Blackwater blinked in surprise, then frowned.  “I’m not going to tell you that.”  
  
“Why not?  Do you like her or something?”  
  
“What?  No.  It’s just that . . . I’m not going to tell you, and I think you knew that before you asked.  Why?”  
  
“So I can kill her.”  
  
She was not facing him and he smiled slightly.  At least she was honest.  “You’re not really helping your case, girl.  I’m not going to help you assassinate one of our Generals.”  
  
“Why not?  She deserves to die.”  
  
Well, what she said wasn’t untrue.  He sighed and crossed his arms.  “Still not telling you.”  
  
She looked over at him, her one green eye glowing in the darkness.  “I’ll tell you something you want to know.”  
  
Mikal rubbed his face.  “I already know about your Warchief trying to get the val’kyr…”  
  
“Not that,” she said, looking back out over the horizon.  “You asked about the Broken Shore.  About what happened.”    
  
He stared at her, although she did not look at him. He had almost forgotten about that ‘conversation.’  That was something he still wondered about, especially after their odd reaction to the accusation he had thrown at them.  He sighed.  “Well, then, what happened?”  
  
“You first.  Mine will take awhile.”  
  
“How do I know you won’t lie?”  
  
She glared over at him.  “We never lied to you at all.  Not once,” she said darkly.  “I can’t say the same for you.”  He started to defend himself, but she had turned away again.  “Besides, you’re the first person from the Alliance who has even bothered to ask, so you have that going for you.  I’m sure I can find another way to find out that bitch’s name.  Take it or leave it.”  
  
Mikal looked at her suspiciously, then sighed.  There was probably not much that the girl could do with the information, and if it was that easy for the Horde to murder their high ranking officers, they would have done it already.  “Her last name is Lemley.  That’s all I know.”  It was not the truth, but she looked over at him and nodded.  
  
“Where do you want me to start?”  
  
“After we split up, when Fordring . . . died,” he said quietly.  He saw a slight look of sorrow on her face, but she nodded and looked back out at the fel storm before she spoke.  
  
#  
  
 _Belidora Bloodfeather scrambled up on top of the rock next to the ledge and looked down.  The Alliance forces looked tiny from where they were, and she suddenly realized just how high the ridge was.  She kicked a rock slightly and watched it tumble down for several seconds.  If they did not hold their ground, there was nowhere to run._  
  
 _She jumped when a large hand fell on her shoulder and she spun her head around, but Phogrim had backed away enough so that she would not impale him on her spear.  She let out a breath of relief and glared at him for a moment before gazing over the ridge once again.  “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you idiot,” the sin’dorei snapped, but she was secretly ecstatic to see him.  She had stumbled over dozens of Horde corpses on the way to where they now found themselves, and she was never sure whether any of the orcs were her friend._  
  
 _Phogrim did not respond to her anger.  Instead, he glanced over the ridge himself.  He grunted.  “Hope they don’t screw this up,” he muttered.  Their tentative pact with the Alliance had been a bit shaky, despite both leaders’ efforts.  In fact, in between the boasting and long briefings on the ship, there had been some grumbling about having to work with them at all.  It had been silenced when one of the commanders had pointed out that, should the Horde and Alliance fail, the Legion would burn them all no matter what banner they flew._  
  
 _“Do you really think they’ll be able to kill Gul’dan?”_  
  
 _He shrugged.  “He’s just one orc.  Surely they will.”_  
  
 _Belidora glanced back at him and then back over the ridge, rolling her eyes.  Orcs could either slay a thousand humans or were helpless babes, and the difference according to Phogrim appeared to be how much he liked the orc in question.  No one in either faction seemed to like Gul’dan, and after the cruelty he had just shown, the hatred had grown tremendously in the last few minutes._  
  
 _The huntress reached down and scratched Snowhide between her ears.  The wolf’s fur was speckled with fel blood where she had been chasing down imps the entire way.  Belidora looked down at her and spoke in Thalassian, “You keep us alive and I’ll get you the best steak I can buy, okay girl?”_  
  
 _“Incoming!” someone screamed from behind them.  The two exchanged a glance and spun around.  Sure enough, dozens of demons of various types began pouring up the hill, coming straight for the ridge._  
  
 _The blood elf felt the orc slap her on the shoulder gently before he departed.  “Fight well, girl,” he said quickly.  She nodded back to him and ran the other direction.  They had different jobs, different roles in the battle, and hers was to get right into the thick of things._  
  
 _She hopped off a rock and brought the blade of her polearm down hard on the head of one of the nearest demons, slicing through the thick skull and sending him sprawling to the ground.  She whistled for her wolf, hoping that the animal was somewhere nearby, and then continued to run forward.  Her elven vision made it easy to see in the relative darkness of the battlefield, at least.  The only light came from the odd swirling of the fel storm and the portals that the demons poured out of._  
  
 _Portals.  She blocked a blow from a felguard and scrambled back in time for the large Tauren warrior behind it to slice through its belly.  The two nodded at each other before she remembered what she had just been thinking about.  There was more than one portal, and each time she managed to clear enough demons out of the way to look behind them, there seemed to be more.  Maybe it was just her imagination and the stress of the situation, though._  
  
 _Belidora must have been thinking about it a bit too much, because she felt a massive hand wrap around her throat and lift her up in the air, her feet dangling above the ground for a few seconds.  Demonic laughter echoed in her ears above the chaos of the battle, but she managed to drive the smaller spear tip on the opposite side of her spear backwards and it was cut off quickly as the demon was taken by surprise.  She fell hard on her back next to the demon when he collapsed, then turned to get up and jerk the polearm out of its corpse._  
  
 _“Careful, elf.  Dat one almost ring ya neck,” a troll yelled from the rocks above her.  She did not bother to look back to see who it was, instead dodging another axe swing by another monster.  This battle was going on for an uncomfortably long time, although battles never really were, well, comfortable.  She managed to stumble back up on the rocks for a few seconds to catch her breath and survey the surroundings.  The magic users were doing a decent job holding them back a little, at least for now._  
  
 _To the young sin’dorei’s growing horror, there were far more Horde troops lying dead or dying on the field than she realized.  They had been outnumbered during the initial wave of demons, but now it it was turning into a massacre.  Further, now she was sure that there were more portals opening, allowing even more of the foul beasts to wander in._  
  
 _Lady Sylvanas was on the ridge, yelling down at the Alliance king that they needed to hurry.  The Banshee Queen and her Dark Rangers’ backs were turned as they tried to clear the skies of the fel bats that swooped down past the ridge, presumably to harass the Alliance forces below.  Belidora could barely hear her over the noise, despite her enhanced voice and the fact that she was not that far away._  
  
 _The blood elf gripped her polearm and was about to run back into the battle when she spotted that Tauren again.  He was stumbling back to her position and she ran over to him.  He bumped into her, but thankfully did not swing his axe around in surprise.  He was covered in numerous cuts and scrapes, as she probably was as well, and breathing heavily.  She could tell that he was very young, but he fought like a veteran of countless wars.  “This isn’t going well,” he yelled to her over the noise.  She shook her head in response, but pointed down the hill._  
  
 _He sighed and nodded.  “Stay by me.  We’ll work together.  Better chance of surviving.”_  
  
 _Belidora nodded dumbly.  It was not like she had a better plan.  The two ran back into the fray, slicing down the more easily killed, smaller demons as they went.  It was getting harder and harder to move easily through the crowds, and the balance of forces were becoming decidedly tilted in the Legion’s favor.  She ducked under yet another axe swing and instinctively drove the tip of her spear into where the beast’s heart would be - if it had one._  
  
 _She pulled the weapon free and stumbled back from the effort, only to bump into the Tauren, who had frozen still.  She turned to look at him, and saw that - in the middle of battle - he was staring at the sky.  “What are you doing?” she yelled, jerking his arm and then his tail to try to get him to snap out of his trance._  
  
 _“What are those?” he said, his voice loud enough to hear but in a frightening monotone._  
  
 _She looked around him and up at the fel storm as well.  Three giant floating . . . things had seemingly suddenly appeared, high above the battlefield.  They were massive and obviously some sort of vehicle, but they resembled neither goblin zeppelins nor gnomish airships.  She saw several of the goblins around her shoot up at them with their rifles, but if they made contact they did no damage, it seemed._  
  
 _The answer to the Tauren’s question came in the form of massive fel beams shooting down at the ground.  Both the blood elf and Tauren, along with most of the other Horde forces in between the main part of the scrum and the top of the ridge, were knocked off of their feet.  The Tauren landed on her leg and she winced in pain, but managed to pull it out and stand shakily.  At least it was not broken._  
  
 _She did not look down the hill at first, instead offering her hand to the young warrior, as if she would be strong enough to help him up even when she wasn’t battle weary.  He did not reach for her hand.  Instead, he was staring down at the battlefield below, his eyes wide in horror.  “By the ancestors,” he said quietly._  
  
 _Belidora finally looked down the hill herself and froze.  A dozen charred bodies covered the landscape, none of which appeared to belong to a demon.  It suddenly hit her that they were all going to die.  Even if they managed to hold the demons off, even if the Alliance would stop taking their damn time in killing that murderous bastard warlock, they had no chance.  Those damned ships would slaughter them all like a cruel child killing insects with a looking glass.  They had no way to attack them from the ground._  
  
 _She reached down and grabbed one of the Tauren’s hands and jerked on it.  “Get up, you stupid cow!  You don’t want to die sitting here, do you?” she snapped, and that seemed to get him out of his stupor.  He ignored the insult and scrambled to his feet.  There had been a slight lull in the battle when the first blast had hit, but now the demons it had cleared the way for charged up the hill toward the remaining Horde forces._  
  
 _A second blast hit, sending them back several more feet, although they managed to stay upright this time.  It was becoming plain that the Legion intended to cut off any escape route and push them over the edge of the ridge to their deaths below.  Now that scene would be a surprise for the Alliance, at least.  Their plan would still take a little time, though, and the blood elf and Tauren renewed their hacking and slashing at the demons that began to surround them, trying to buy a few precious seconds._  
  
 _Belidora felt a sharp pain in her side as a felguard sliced it open with his polearm.  It was fairly shallow, but it still bled freely.  She managed to impale the monster before falling to a knee and grasping the wound, trying to will herself back on her feet.  The three fingers of the Tauren’s massive hand wrapped around her thin arm and started pulling her to her feet._  
  
 _A voice rang out with a troll’s accent.  It was Warchief Vol’jin, shouting orders.  He and Sylvanas had been giving orders throughout the entire assault on the Broken Shore, and usually the huntress only halfway registered them.  This time, though, she actually dumbly looked over at the shadow hunter.  He was quite a distance away, but she could still see it clearly when the felguard rushed up to him and impaled him on the spear._  
  
 _The sin’dorei tensed, shocked, then realized that the Tauren must have seen it too, judging by the tightened grip on her arm and the fact that he had stopped trying to pull her to her feet.  It was clear that a good number of the Horde soldiers also took notice of the scene, as the demons used the shock to their advantage, cutting even more of them down._  
  
 _“Let’s send those bastards back to the Twisting Nether!” the Tauren suddenly yelled at her, forcing her to stand.  She went and grabbed the polearm, giving it a rough jerk to get it out of the demonic corpse and turning to rejoin the battle.  She stopped for a moment as she was almost trampled by a skeletal horse ridden by Sylvanas.  The Banshee Queen was riding straight toward the wounded Warchief, but Belidora did not pay attention to what went on past that.  She instead went back to cutting down demons as quickly as she could._  
  
 _She had just managed to slice through a few imps when stars exploded in her vision and she was shoved into the rocky ground hard.  She tried to open her eyes to see, but the blood flowing from her forehead obscured her vision.  Instead, she turned and swung the polearm hard, blindly, and connected with something.  An echoing scream from a demon rang in her ears, telling her she had hopefully found her mark._  
  
 _Still, Belidora knew that she had messed up and had done so badly.  She tried to open her eyes again, holding the wound with one hand to try to staunch the bleeding.  Her head was swimming, and unless she got up, she would likely be caught in the next fel blast._  
  
 _The sin’dorei finally managed to clear her vision at the same moment a horn sounded impossibly loud from down the hill.  She blinked slightly and scrambled up the rocks, trying to figure out what was going on.  A large hand clasped on her shoulder as she readied her polearm to continue to hold the demons off.  She looked up to see one of the Darkspear shadow hunters.  “Dat be the retreat, girl!  Get to da ship!”_  
  
 _“Retreat?” she muttered dumbly._  
  
 _“It’s over!  Go!”_  
  
 _The sin’dorei stared at him and nodded, then took off running, realizing her steps were faltering and stumbling as she dodged the corpses.  The Forsaken ships were docked a good distance away, although they probably assumed that they would be used to transport a victorious army instead of a defeated, bloody rabble of survivors.  She put her fingers in her mouth and winced at the taste of blood, but whistled, hoping her stupid wolf was following._  
  
 _The demons did not seem to follow them, other than to cut down a few wounded stragglers.  Instead, they simply sauntered toward the ridge - the ridge the Horde had sworn to defend. Belidora looked back to watch and to look for her Tauren comrade when she ran into the surf and tripped, going underwater for a few seconds.  She pulled her head out, sputtering, and grabbed onto the rope ladder that had been dropped to avoid a bottleneck of soldiers trying to make their way up the gangplank._  
  
 _As if there were enough soldiers left to make that a possibility._  
  
 _It took a few seconds and the help of a troll warrior grabbing her belt, but she managed to climb up and roll onto the deck.  As a few more soldiers clambered up the gangplank, the ship began to disembark.  The sin’dorei rolled onto her back to see Snowhide standing over her, licking her.  She shoved her pet away, a bit more roughly than she meant to, and got on her knees, looking over the side.  Some angelic but disturbing creatures were carrying a few unconscious wounded down below decks._  
  
 _Belidora looked up to see Phogrim, who had seemingly made it to the ship just before she did.  He was also staring back toward the island.  He had the expression he always did when a battle had gone poorly, when his healing had not worked the way he wanted it to - only she had never seen the expression quite so strongly on his face.  She looked back at the island and muttered dumbly, “I hope they make it out okay.”  She did not need to define who “they” were._  
  
 _“Come on,” Phogrim muttered, helping her to her feet and gently escorting her down.  They passed Lady Sylvanas on the way.  She was holding onto the captain’s wheel and staring back at the island as it got further and further away.  She did not acknowledge any of the soldiers as the filed down below decks at the more senior soldiers’ orders, and all of them had the sense not to speak to her._  
  
#  
  
Blackwater stared at the young blood elf as she finished her story.  She had fallen silent, not looking at him and instead staring out at the storm again.  It occurred to him that she may have made the entire thing up, but like he had figured before, she was a bad liar.  Besides, something in her tone and phrasing made him believe the utter futility of it.  They may really have been walking straight into a suicide mission.  
  
“And then, when we got back to Orgrimmar, we found out that you idiots wanted to declare war on us,” she growled.  “You fought there?  How would you have felt if you fought all along that island, saw all your comrades die, and then found out that the Horde thought you sided with the demons?”  
  
Mikal tried to change the subject.  “What happened to your Tauren friend?” he asked quietly.  
  
“I guess he’s dead.  Never saw him when I got back to the ship, or at Vol’jin’s funeral.  I . . . I hope he’s dead,” she muttered flatly.  “Beats the alternative.”  She paused.  “I forgot to ask his name.  I wish I knew it now.  Maybe I could have visited his family, told them he fought well and died a warrior’s death.”  
  
Mikal sighed.  “I’m sure they know,” he said to her gently, then looked out over the horizon.  “Look, I’m sorry I accused you…” he began, then stopped when she looked over at him with a blank look on her face.  He knew that any words of comfort he could offer would be lost on her, given what he allowed to happen to her and her friends, as well as what she just said.  Instead, he muttered, “I’m sorry about your Warchief.  He seemed like an honorable troll.  He deserved better than to die on that Light forsaken beach.”  
  
He frowned when he saw a flash of anguish in her eye, but she turned away quickly and spoke again.  “He didn’t.  He died in Orgrimmar, in Grommash Hold,” she said quietly.  “Takes a lot to kill a troll, especially a shadow hunter.”  
  
Mikal frowned at her and sighed, calculating in his head how long it would take to get from the Broken Isles to the Horde capital.  He shuddered when he realized it would be almost a day if the winds were cooperative.  “What killed him, then?”  
  
“He had fel poisoning.”  
  
Mikal stared at her for a moment, thinking, but he saw that this line of questioning was obviously painful, and she was telling him more than they had initially agreed to.  Perhaps she was a bit delirious from whatever was wrong with her, or she just wanted to talk?  He rubbed his face and looked out at the sky.  “We will eventually have to go back out there, you realize.  The only way to end this war is to seal the Tomb of Sargares.”  
  
“If we don’t kill each other first.”  
  
He glanced over at her, but she had evidently decided to change the subject.  “I’m sorry about your King.  He didn’t deserve to die, either.”  
  
He looked over at her.  That was a sentiment he did not quite expect from a soldier of the Horde.  “Do you really believe that, or are you just saying it?”  
  
“He was a brave and honorable man,” she muttered.  “You’d find most of my comrades would agree.  That might be the only nice thing they have to say about him, but still.  He was our enemy, but he was an honorable one.  More can be said for anyone in the Legion.”  She paused.  “An Alliance soldier told me that he took down a giant fel reaver and saved the Alliance gunship, all by himself.  That’s why he died.”  
  
Mikal watched her.  He figured there was probably more to the conversation she had with this mysterious soldier than that, but he decided he did not want to know.  “Do you believe that story?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” she said, a slight warning of anger in her voice.  “It’s not right to question someone’s honor in such circumstances.”  
  
Blackwater sighed.  So, they were back to that.  Still, he could not quite blame her for still being angry, but nothing he could say would make matters better.  He stood up and dusted off his armor.  “You should get back to the infirmary before the Horde launches a search party for you.  You need to rest from . . . whatever is going on here.  Would you like me to walk you back there before I depart?”  
  
“No,” she said bluntly.  
  
“Very well,” he said, starting to walk to get a gryphon.  He paused after a few steps and turned around.  A thought occurred to the human and he mulled over bringing it up, but he thought he probably should.  The girl had been honest with him, and it was something that she would eventually figure out on her own.  “And Bloodfeather?”  
  
“Uh huh?”  
  
“As far as I know, we did not have a single case of fel poisoning among our casualties.  Did you, other than your Warchief?”  
  
She spun around to face him.  She did not answer verbally, but the look on her face showed that the answer was probably no.  He turned away from her and started walking toward the gryphon again.  “Perhaps you should be asking why he was the only one.”  
  
#  
  
Thad Nightbringer felt a bit guilty as he wrote down his notes.  He had been tasked by Nathanos to find out exactly what had happened to the three unlucky Horde soldiers while they were being held prisoner.  Actually, he had been assigned that task as soon as they were rescued, but the fact that they were not healthy enough for the long meeting delayed it.  Then the fact that they had other matters to attend to in Stormheim had delayed it further still.    
  
Unfortunately, this long delay had convinced the young soldiers, or at least one of them, to take matters into their own hands.  He thought about coming up with some sort of sanctions for the blood elf, but again, he felt guilty for not dealing with this matter earlier.  
  
As it was, they initially declined to speak to him at all about their time in the Alliance camp, but he had told them bluntly that they were being ordered to from the highest levels of the Horde.  He questioned them one at a time and they dutifully answered his questions and recounted the ‘interrogations’, going into detail if he asked.  He quickly learned not to ask - it disturbed him how monotone and emotionless they had been as they traced their scars and explained how they had been given them.    
  
Even then, he had figured out that they were leaving out certain events, but he had to weigh between him needing to know for his report and dragging them through the horrific memories again.  
  
The Forsaken glanced up at the three, who he had finally gotten to the point that he could speak to them together.  They looked miserable, and the girl was still weak from her injuries.  They were dressed in regular clothes, not armor, which is one of the reasons he had gotten them to do the interview at the inn in Dalaran.  They could at least be physically comfortable if nothing else.    
  
“Thank you for cooperating,” he said gently.  “I’m sure the Warchief will see to it that these crimes do not go unpunished.  I just have a few more questions for you.”  He remembered not to ask if they would be willing to answer them - they would just say no, as they had at the beginning, and he would have to argue with them.  When they looked at him tiredly he continued.  “Do you have any idea as to the identity of this female General?  Did any of the other soldiers ever call her by name?”  
  
The orc and troll shook their heads silently, but the young blood elf whispered, “Lemley.”  
  
“Lemley?  Are you certain?”  
  
When she nodded, he noticed that the other two were staring at her. “How do you know her name?” the orc asked and the girl just shrugged.  She had her arms folded on the front of his desk and her face half buried in them.  She had been he most quiet of the three and had not even looked the Forsaken in the eye once the entire time.  
  
Thad jotted the note down and underlined it.  He would have to talk to their spies, see if they had ever heard of an Alliance officer matching the description the three gave.  This was good information indeed, if it was accurate.   “Thank you, Bloodfeather,” he said gently.  “I’ll be sure to pass that information along.  You mentioned a potion.  Can you describe it?”  
  
“Green.  Like fel,” the orc said quietly.    
  
“What did it taste like?”  
  
“Bad.  It burned.”  
  
“And it made the pain worse?”  
  
“Why do you want to know this?” Phogrim asked finally.  
  
“The apothecaries are trying to identify it,” Thad explained.  He could tell from the expression of the two who would meet his gaze that they did not entirely believe him and he decided to drop the subject.  “Do you have any indication how they even found out about the val’kyr they were questioning you about?”  
  
“No,” the three said in unison, and he could detect the cold anger in their voices.    
  
He sighed, but decided that line of questioning was also dead.  He glanced up at them and picked up his notes.  “Thank you for speaking with me.  I know it’s difficult, but you have given us valuable information in the war effort.”  
  
The three just looked at him when finally the troll spoke, “Can we be leavin’ now, sir?”  
  
Thad frowned but nodded.  The troll reached over and helped the blood elf to her feet.  They did not bother to salute when they left, but he let it slide.  He had no idea why Nathanos felt the need to get the details of the torture, but he had asked for them all the same.  The mage ran a hand through his thin hair and sighed.  
  
Next time the Champion could get his own information, he decided.  He rolled up the scroll and got to his feet, walking toward the portal to Undercity.  Hopefully the vengeance he had promised them was not just an empty lie.  
  
#  
  
Jof woke with a massive headache.  He sat up on his cot and rubbed his forehead, looking around.  The inn was relatively quiet for once, so it must be the middle of the night.  He glanced over at his two friends.  Phogrim was snoring, as usual, and had one massive leg hanging off the cot, dangling just above the floor.  The troll watched his fellow shaman for several minutes, trying to will his headache to go away.  It was an annoying, dull, throbbing pain.  
  
He looked over at his other friend on her cot and saw that she was curled up and shivering. Her blanket was lying on the floor next to her bed.  He sighed and rolled his eyes, walking over and picking it up, then draping it over her.  She seemed to have never been a quiet sleeper in the relatively short time he had known her, but after the entire thing in Stormheim, she had gotten markedly worse. He shook his head and walked out of the small private room that they had pooled gold together to buy, then looked down at the scene below.  
  
There were a few soldiers downstairs, eating a meal of meat and cheese and bread and drinking some beers.  He had half a mind to go join them, but he doubted he would make for pleasant conversation.  Instead, he plopped down on the balcony, sticking his long legs through the barrier and letting them dangle, resting his chin on his arms.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment and thought.  Why was he even awake?  He was exhausted, but he did not feel any desire at all to try and crawl back into bed.  He remembered having some dream.  He would not exactly call it a nightmare, since it did not really frighten him.  Instead, it angered him greatly.  He just could not quite remember what exactly it was.  
  
“Jof?” a soft voice said behind him.  
  
He glanced back to see the young sin’dorei standing in the doorway, watching him.  She was still pale and frail looking, and had a dark circle under the one eye that was not covered by the eyepatch.  She had only been out of the Infirmary for a couple of days, and the healer had given them a strict warning that she was supposed to sleep as much as possible.  
  
“’Ey girl.  Sorry.  Didn’t mean ta wake ya up,” he said gently, smiling.  “Go back ta bed.  Ya shouldn’t be awake.  Dat healer said ju were s’posed to get more rest or ju have to go back.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and turned back around when she ignored him, stumbling forward slowly and sitting down next to him.  She had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders and she leaned her forehead on the wooden beam next to her.  “I can’t sleep.  I wake up a lot at night,” she said quietly, staring downstairs.  “Most of the time I just go down to the fireplace and sit in front of it.  Maybe make some arrows.  Tried drinking beer - that doesn’t really work.”  
  
“Ju can take a sleeping potion.”  
  
“I hate those.”  
  
He sighed and looked away.  His head hurt too much to argue with the girl.  He was about to suggest they go downstairs when he heard her whisper, “I missed Mork’s funeral, didn’t I?”  
  
He looked over at her and frowned, but nodded.  “Yes.  Ju were too weak to walk.  Ju could barely stay awake.”  
  
“Did you tell them that I’m sorry?”  
  
Jof stared over at her for a few seconds, then shook his head.  “We told them dat he saved us from da Alliance camp.  Dat he saved ju in a battle with an evil woman,” he said gently.  “Ju have nothin’ to be sorry for.  For da orcs, dere be no death more honorable den what he had.”  
  
“He should have gotten to see his kids grow up, Jof.  They shouldn’t grow up without their father,” she said quietly.  She was not looking at him, but her voice cracked.  He sighed.  He felt like giving her a hug to comfort her, but her emotions since she had gotten out of the Infirmary had been more . . . volatile than usual.  He did not want her to jerk away and slip under the banister by accident.  
  
Instead, he said gently, “Mork did what he thought was right.  Dere be nothin’ to apologize for.  If he didn’t want ta help us, he woulda stayed in Orgrimmar.  An’ he wouldn’t have wanted us ta be cryin’ over him, anymore den Vol’jin woulda wanted it.”  
  
He waited until she seemed to relax a bit before continuing.  “Get back ta bed before Phogrim gets up and yells at da both of us.  He wake up da whole inn if he does that.”  
  
She smiled weakly at him and stumbled to her feet, limping back toward the room.  He watched her go silently, then looked back down at the floor below.  Belidora really should not have attacked by herself, but she knew that, and he would not dare bring it up to her.  It could not be changed now.  He had to admit that he likely would have done the same thing, given the chance.  The more that time went on and the more he thought of the first . . . ‘session’ of the interrogation, the more that anger and resentment grew within him.  He had the feeling that he would have his chance soon.  
  
If he had learned one thing while Garrosh was Warchief of the Horde, it was that you should never allow someone to hunt you for long.  
  
#  
  
Nathanos Blightcaller thumbed through the handwritten report he had been given about the three young soldiers and their time in the Alliance camp.  He had read it multiple times already, grimacing each time.  He had not requested the details of the ‘interrogations’ for any sort of curiosity.  He had hoped that the descriptions the three could offer might give them an idea as to the identity of this General.    
  
“Are you sure the girl said ‘Lemley?’” he muttered to the officer in front of him.  
  
“Yes sir,” Thad said politely.  “She was the only one who gave a name at all, though.”  
  
He set the paperwork down on his desk and sighed.  “That can’t be right, though,” he said.  “There is no such General in the entirety of the Alliance according to our sources.”  He rubbed his face.  The Queen absolutely insisted that they find out exactly who this bitch was and have her killed for her crimes, but his only witnesses were evidently a group of scared, idiot scouts.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir.  That’s the name she gave.  She’s in poor health, however.  It would not be unreasonable for her to be confused.”  
  
“How did they describe this General?  Physically, I mean.”  
  
“Blonde.  Blue eyes.  Probably in her fifties.  Tall,” Thad listed, then shrugged.  
  
Blightcaller nodded, picking up the report again to rifle through it once more.  “Fine.  You’re dismissed.”  
  
Thad bowed his head slightly and walked out of his chambers.  Nathanos watched him then began reading again.  He had been given this chore by Sylvanas and he did not want to disappoint her by saying that nothing could be done, especially not after that idiot Greymane had ruined everything.  He did not exactly, well, fear her wrath, but he also wanted to please her. Besides, the three had said that they believed the Alliance had destroyed the camp they were in.  The evidence they offered was shaky at best, but he needed to rule it in or out before speaking to the Dark Lady.   
  
He concentrated on what was being said in the report.  The descriptions of some of the methods of torture, although gruesome and clinical, began to strike him as familiar as he read more and more.  Finally, after his fourth reading of the report, it dawned on him.  He had heard of some of these techniques before, but they were from a nightmare that was long since defeated.  
  
Should have been defeated, at least.  
  
He snatched the papers off of his desk and got up, walking quickly toward the Rogue Quarter of Undercity.  There was a certain spy there who had a great deal of experience with the organization that he had in mind, more so than even most of the other Forsaken.  Nathanos may have prided himself with knowing a great deal about his Lady’s enemies, but there were some things even he could not keep track of all of the time.  
  
Nathanos walked into the small shop that she ran and noticed when she tried to stand up and give him the proper respect, but he ignored her.  He did not have time for such formalities.  He walked up to the spy - a tall Forsaken female who actually had most of her body largely intact - and handed her the papers.    
  
“This is the report of some of our soldiers who were taken prisoner by the Alliance,” he said shortly.  “They describe a female General as the one who was in charge of the torture.”  He waited for her to start reading slowly before speaking again.  
  
“Was there anyone you know of fitting that description within the Scarlet Crusade?”


	7. Winter Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is nothing but fluff, and probably could have been published as a separate story, but whatever.

_**Author's Note: Khadgar, Modera, Kalec, Dalaran and locations all copyright Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission.** _

_**I was going to publish this as a separate story, but it goes with this one so I decided to just make it a chapter. I was also going to get this done before Winter Veil was over in game, but real life Christmas stuff got in the way. Whatever, it's still cold out.** _

_**Enjoy.** _

#

Archmage Khadgar leaned back in the plush chair in his study, opening up a tome with a flick of his wrist. He had been studying most of the day, but it was easier and less stressful than meetings and diplomacy. There was a feast with the rest of the Kirin Tor Six planned for later in the evening, but that was more a chance to relax, or at least it was supposed to be. He was sure that they would need to discuss the whole Legion invasion at some point during the dinner.

He rested his chin on his hand and looked at the tome lazily as it floated in front of him. It was one of the tomes that he had managed to smuggle out of Karazhan, but there unfortunately did not seem to be anything very useful inside its pages. Then again, he had just started on this tone. He had just finished the page when there was a knock on the doorframe of his room.

The man looked up to see Kalec standing there, in his half elven form, of course. A blue dragon could not possibly fit inside the door, that would be ridiculous. He smiled tiredly. "Ah, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The blue dragon smiled as he stepped inside. "I just wanted you to know, Archmage, that the commanders from both the Alliance and the Horde have been complaining nonstop all morning."

"Oh?" Khadgar replied, turning the page. "How shocking. What is it this time?"

"Their people are not getting their work done."

Khadgar closed the tome and floated it over to the table he had taken it from, letting it drop the last few inches with a heavy thud. He put his hands behind his head and stretched. "That sounds like a problem for their leaders," he said nonchalantly.

"It is kind of our fault," Kalec said, then smiled slightly. "I did advise you not to have snow conjured…"

Khadgar looked at him and started to laugh. "Are they playing in the snow?"

"Indeed they are. Well, more like fighting with it. We're not entirely sure which side started throwing it first…"

The Archmage got to his feet and walked to the window of his chambers. He looked down and saw a little golden haired gnome who had rigged up . . . some sort of contraption to fire snowballs at the approaching tauren. Khadgar was somewhat surprised and impressed that she managed to make it on such short notice. Of course, they seemed to have been still packed by hand, so they were quite tiny. They were totally unlike the snowball the tauren retaliated with, which covered the gnome to her chest.

_Like children_ , Khadgar thought, then sighed. Most of them, at least the shorter lived races, were young adults. He had been doing this for so long he had forgotten that fact. He looked back at Kalec, who had come up next to him to also watch out of the window. "Tell their commanders that it's the Feast of Winter Veil. Nothing can be done about the snow."

"They're not going to like that answer."

"By the Light, let them have some _fun,_ " Khadgar replied. "Those like them have saved us all countless times. Besides, this is far better than the conflict their leaders stirred up themselves in Stormheim. And, like I said, it is Winter Veil…" _Likely the last one most of them will ever see,_ he thought, but kept that to himself.

Kalec sighed as well and nodded, still watching the scene below. Khadgar knew he was wondering about if the little snowball "war" that had erupted could escalate. The gnome had dug herself out and run off, and the tauren had retreated a half block as well, speaking to a troll. Obviously they had formed a little squad. Still, they could not actually harm each other in Dalaran, and the Alliance and Horde specific areas of the city were magically protected as always.

Khadgar hoped that they could burn off some of their animosity with it, maybe even begin to see the other side as people again. Tensions had been dangerously high and had only escalated after the two sides' campaign into Stormheim, but they had to share a city and a world if they were going to stop the Legion. That was a goal that seemed all the more distant as time went by instead of getting closer as it should be.

He looked over at Kalec. "Do you think we could get a tree and presents set up by this evening for them?" When the blue dragon raised an eyebrow, he continued. "Nothing brings people together like pretending to like awful gifts."

#

Phogrim winced as he felt his arm being shaken roughly. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the young blood elf smiling down at him. "What?" he muttered.

"Get up, get up. I have something to show you," Belidora said happily.

He sat up slowly and stretched, reaching down and putting on his shoes. His friend turned her attention to Jof, who was sleeping on the hammock next to him. For him she grabbed the ropes and pulled it to the side until it started rocking hard back and forth, almost sending him falling off onto the floor. He yelled something at her in Zandali and she laughed and slowed the rocking so he could get up.

The orc watched her warily. The young elf had finally, slowly recovered, but she had rarely so much as smiled in the past few weeks. She had been plagued with nightmares she would not speak about with anyone and had dealt with the insomnia by working almost nonstop on menial tasks. Still, she seemed absolutely giddy now. Whatever had happened had gotten her out of her depression, at least for the time being.

He got up and walked out of their room, then looked downstairs. The inn was covered in Winter Veil decorations and he smiled. He was supposed to visit his mom and sister and nephew the next day before they set off for their next assignment. He still needed to pick up some sort of toy for the child.

"Put a cloak on. We have to go outside and it's cold out," Belidora said, walking toward the stairs and making her way down. Her hooded cloak was already snapped around her shoulders, and although she had her bow and armor on, she wore no tabard.

"Do ju have one I could borrow?" Jof asked Phogrim quietly.

The orc sighed. "We're going to Highmountain in a few days. How many times do I need to tell you to go buy warmer clothes?"

"I never be needin' dem back home," the troll protested.

"I don't get much use out of them either, but I'm not content to freeze when I do go to cold places," he muttered, putting his cloak on and handing a spare to Jof. It was both too wide and not long enough for the troll, but it was better than nothing.

They picked up their weapons and followed the girl downstairs. They should not be needed in Dalaran, but they were in a vulnerable floating city over the Broken Isles, so it probably wouldn't hurt. Still, they strapped them on rather than carry them.

The sin'dorei had gotten her pet to wake up from in front of the fire and grinned at them. "Okay, let's go," she said, leading the way outdoors.

Phogrim and Jof were still arguing as they stepped out of the front door of the inn, so they were both quite surprised by the violent temperature drop. They turned to look at the elf, who was grinning. "It's snowing!"

"I can see that," Phogrim said, holding out his hand and catching a few flakes.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

He sighed and smiled at her. "It is quite breathtaking," he said, turning back to the troll who had backed just inside the door and was standing there, looking miserable. "I told you. You're going to hate Highmountain if you can't handle this."

"It be wet and freezin'," the troll muttered, crossing his arms. "It warm in here."

"But they have a lot of fun stuff planned," Belidora said sadly. "There's going to be carolers coming around later and we get gifts in the center of the city. You need to come out or you won't get one."

The troll shook his head. "Too cold."

The orc sighed when he saw the girl's shoulders sag. It was the first good mood she'd been in in awhile and he did not want to see it ruined. He thought for a moment and grabbed her by the arm. "Come on. I have an idea," he whispered to her, and then to Jof he called, "We'll be right back, crybaby."

Belidora followed him, Snowhide trailing behind, and he let go of her arm so he wasn't dragging her. He had seen some goblins setting up a cart the day before and he was fairly sure he knew exactly who they were. He smiled to himself and then decided to make smalltalk as they walked. "I wonder how they keep the inside of the inn warm?"

"There's a sheet of arcane energy over the entry that wasn't there the day before," the blood elf said nonchalantly.

"How do you know? You're no mage."

"I can see it."

"You . . . you can?"

"Yeah. All of us can see arcane energy," she said, then laughed. "We've been in the Horde how many years and you never figured that out?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I thought you knew. It took me a little while to figure out that other races couldn't."

He shook his head, but decided to store that away in his memory - it would prove useful in the future, he was sure.

They got to the Smokywood Pastures booth within a few minutes and Phogrim pulled out his gold, talking to the goblin quietly. The goblin eyed it greedily and nodded, then pulled out two sweaters, one red and one green. Phogrim turned back to his friend. "Which one do you think we should get him?" he snickered.

She was laughing again and pointed wordlessly to the red one.

They paid for it and took the sweater, starting to walk back to the inn. Once they were out of earshot of the goblin, Belidora said quietly, "It's so gawdy."

"I know! It's going to be great. Come on."

"I'll have to give you some gold when we get back to the-" Belidora started, then was cut off with someone yelling _For the Alliance_ behind her. When they turned to look, the two of them were pelted with a half dozen snowballs. They covered themselves until the bombardment stopped, then glanced up to see a young man and woman laughing and dashing around the corner of a nearby store.

Phogrim watched as the blood elf scowled and reached down, gathering up her own snowball and starting to chase them. He grabbed the back of her cloak, stopping her. "Wait," he whispered. "They're setting up an ambush, I bet. We can't just go blindly rushing in."

She stopped trying to pull away from him and looked at her suspiciously with her one good eye. He grinned at her. "They don't know I'm a shaman, though. Let's go get Jof and prepare for the counteroffensive."

#

Justin sat on his bed in the inn and watched his friend work on her machine. He had no idea how she had gotten it put together so quickly. It was probably used for some other purpose than throwing snowballs and she had modified it.

"This should be able to throw about five snowballs a second," Kathkin said, pulling her goggles up and inspecting her work. "I could set it to go faster, but we might be in trouble if we give anyone a concussion."

"You're surprisingly considerate for a gnome."

"You're thinking of goblins," she snapped, but giggled.

Justin smiled at her as he reached down to pet Swiftgear, who was running around the entire room. He sighed as he looked up at the Winter Veil decorations at the front of the inn. It was the first time he had spent the holiday away from his parents and sister. Most of the other soldiers there had been in the other constant wars that plagued Azeroth and were used to it, but…

"Do you think we could get leave to go home tomorrow?" he asked Kathkin.

"Probably not. Everyone tries to get leave for Winter Veil. Most of them have seniority over us," she said.

"You've been in wars before."

"Yeah, as an engineer. Not as a soldier," she said. "Totally different system. Hand me that tool, will ya?"

He reached over and picked it up, handing it to her. She started hammering on the machine (which he was sure was not what the tool was for). He watched for a moment and then flopped back down on his bed, running a hand through his light brown hair. It was stupid. They did not even have many tasks to complete today. He should be able to go back to Stormwind.

The young paladin was just about to doze off when there was a knock on the doorjamb. He glanced up and saw the Captain standing there, smiling at him. He started to jump to his feet but the man waved it off. "You have visitors, Crawford," he said. "Go out and have some fun, you two. Merry Winter Veil."

Justin sat up in time to see his parents and his sister walk in slowly. When they saw him, they rushed over and embraced him.

"I missed you so much, sweetie!" his mother said, pulling back and giving him a kiss on the cheek. She looked at him and frowned worriedly. "What happened to your face?"

He blinked slowly and rubbed his cheek. He had forgotten about the scar there. "It's a bit of a long story. I'll tell you later," he started, but was interrupted by his sister, Kallie.

"It's snowing outside!" she said happily. He smiled down at her. She was a girl of ten, with blonde pigtails and a festive winter dress on. "Come on! Let's go play in the snow!"

"We will," Justin said quietly, then looked back at his parents. "I wasn't expecting you. I haven't really bought any gifts yet," he said sheepishly.

"Seeing you safe and sound is the only gift we need," his mother said gently, hugging him again.

He finally managed to break the embrace and motioned toward his friend. "Mom, Dad, Kallie, this is Kathkin Seelafizzle," he said. "She works with me in Stormheim."

"Hello," the gnome said over her shoulder, still tinkering with her machine. She did not bother to turn around. "Pleased to meet you all. Merry Winter Veil."

Justin rolled his eyes and looked over as Kallie started to walk out of the room. "I'm going to play in the snow!" she said with finality.

"Hey! You stay right here and wait for us. There are Horde soldiers out there," her father snapped.

"Dad, they're not going to do anything. We've been around them this entire time. Fighting is banned in Dalaran," Justin said.

"You can't trust those vermin to follow rules…"

Justin glanced over at Kathkin and she rolled her eyes at him. Well, his father would not be someone he was going to explain his scar to, it seemed. Luckily the gnome spoke up. "They can't fight, sir," she said. "Any violence is immediately stopped by the Kirin Tor Guardians."

"See, dad? I'm going. Bye!" Kallie said, skipping out of the room. Her father stormed after her, presumably to stop her.

Justin smiled as they left until his mother gripped his chin, still inspecting the scar. "I do want to know how you got this," she started.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. His mother would be much more likely to be understanding than his father had been. She was a priestess, after all. Still, he needed a way to frame his answer. "I got . . . into a fight."

"A fight? With whom?" she said, sitting down with him on his bed.

"Promise you won't tell father? Or anyone, really?"

His mother sighed at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "What did you do, Justin?"

He then told the story of the three Horde prisoners and what he had tried to do. His mother listened to him in silence, brushing his short hair back with her fingers gently, then sighed. "I see why you don't want your father to know about this," she said quietly.

He looked down at the ground until Kathkin spoke up. "Mrs. Crawford?" she said quietly. "It sounds like your son was doing his job. He was defending people who were helpless against evil being done to them. That's what paladins are s'posed to do, right?"

The woman smiled sadly down at the gnome and gave her son another kiss on his cheek. "Yes," she said. "I'm not angry at you, sweetie. Just . . . be careful. The Horde can be dangerous. You know that."

"Are you going to tell father?"

"No," she said. "I love your father, but he can be an absolute brute in his way of thinking sometime. Come on, now. We have festivities to take part in. You don't want to disappoint your sister. You too, Miss Seelafizzle. Let's go get some cocoa."

#

Jof reached down and held his hand out, pulling the snow up to him and forming a barricade in front of him. Snow, after all, was just frozen water, and he could command the water elementals quite easily. It was _still_ freezing out, but at least the sweater his friends had gotten him helped. Also, it was not like he could simply refuse to go out now. They had gone to the trouble to get him warm clothes, although he figured it was as much for their amusement than anything.

"See, we can push this ahead of us as we attack," Phogrim was explaining to their blood elf friend, who was busy eating a gingerbread cookie. She was not really helping, although it had been her and Phogrim's idea to continue the snowball war in the first place. They said it was a matter of honor. Jof rolled his eyes and finished his barricade.

"Ju ready, girl?" Jof said.

She swallowed the last of her cookie and nodded, picking up a handful of snow and packing it tight. She was the quickest of the three of them, and also probably the hardest to hit, so she had volunteered for the most 'dangerous' part of the 'mission.' Jof and Phogrim ducked behind their makeshift barricade and, with the help of the elements, moved it into position. Jof watched the blood elf sneak up against the wall and alleyway where they had figured out the Alliance were planning their ambush from.

The huntress hesitated a moment, watching down the alleyway and taking aim, then threw her snowball. There was a surprised yelp, then the sound of a dozen footsteps landing in the soft snow chasing her. Jof waited for her to quickly sprint out and duck behind a corner, then nudged for Phogrim to get ready, since the orc was not quite tall enough to see over the top of it.

Within a few seconds the Alliance soldiers ran out, looking around for their prey. There were six of them now - three humans, a draenei, and a couple of gnomes. When they were in the open and there were no innocent bystanders around, Jof gave the signal.

With that, the forty snowballs they had prepared carefully flew over the top of the barricade and onto the small Alliance squad, pelting them from the air like wyverns dropping explosives. The two shamans glanced around the barricade the Alliance soldiers dusting the snow off that now covered their clothes. They both turned around and put their backs to the snow, then laughed.

"That's cheating!" one of the humans yelled at them, but they ignored it, still laughing uproariously.

They continued to laugh until they felt snowballs begin to hit them from from above the barricade as the Alliance soldiers threw them over the snowdrift. Jof winced at the cold, but Phogrim motioned to him to go down the street. He yelled in Orcish over the barricade, "Beli! Fall back to da checkpoint!"

Who knows how long the Alliance soldiers continued to throw snowballs over the barricade after the two turned into their wolf forms and sprinted off?

#

The checkpoint happened to be the Legerdemain Lounge.

The small coffee shop and tavern was much busier than it usually was, which was saying something, because it was always busy. The cold and snow must have made the coffee and other hot drinks inside seem even more enticing than usual. The mood was light and boisterous, as usual, but now it was also interspersed with both Horde and Alliance soldiers singing carols and laughing.

Belidora looked over at her two friends as they leaned back on the couch and chatted happily in Orcish. Jof had taken a blanket he found draped over the back of the couch (which Belidora was sure was for decoration only) and was trying to cover up with it as much as possible. Even with the sweater on he must have been cold, especially after being pelted with snow.

"I'm going to get us something to drink," she announced to the two of them, and Jof looked over at her as she stood up.

"None of dat nasty coffee," he started.

"No coffee, okay? I have a better idea."

She walked up to the bar, dodging past the gathered soldiers carefully. There was a line and the sin'dorei sighed, looking around the room. There were more than just the normal soldiers and Dalaran citizens in the lounge - it seemed that families were visiting, from both the Horde and Alliance cities. There were especially more children than there usually were in Dalaran. She watched a couple of draenei children run around the legs of the waiting patrons and she smiled slightly, then sighed.

Winter Veil was always a somewhat difficult time for her. It had been made a lot better by her friends.

She got to the front of the line and placed her ordered for the three hot cocoas, then rested her chin on her hand as she watched the barista make them. She glanced around the room again when a familiar flash of pink hair caught her eye. She stared for a moment at the group seated around the table with the gnome, then raised a finger at the barista.

"Can you do me a favor?"

The barista nodded, and she gave her the second order and the instructions on how to deliver it, then put down the extra silvers on the bar. She grabbed the tray and carried the drinks back to her friends. She set it down on the coffee table in front of them.

"What dis be?"

"It's hot cocoa. Don't tell me you've never had hot cocoa," Belidora said. The troll shrugged, and she continued. "They have this every single year in Orgrimmar."

"Just drink it," Phogrim laughed, picking his up. The troll rolled his eyes and picked the mug up, taking a sip.

"Better than coffee?" Belidora asked.

"Dis actually be good."

"Well, I'm glad it meets your approval," she said, sitting down between them and grabbing her own mug. She drank it and listened as they started up their conversation again, then Phogrim ruffled her hair. Since it was still wet from the snow, it stuck out in odd directions and she glared up at him.

"Hey, didn't we meet at Winter Veil?"

She blinked slowly, then smiled. "Yeah, I guess we did…"

#

_Phogrim rubbed the back of his neck tiredly and walked around Grommash Hold where the vendors were out with their Winter Veil offerings. Most were junk, of course, as they always were, but he still needed to get something for his mother and sister. He knew he should not have waited until the last minute, when the merchants inevitably raised their prices to prey on orcs like him._

_It was crowded and actually somewhat cold in Durotar that Winter Veil, which was a rarity, but at least it was not the usual stifling heat. With the crammed conditions, that would have been unbearable. He picked up a pair of gauntlets and looked at them, then set them back down. He sighed and walked around the corner when some fine skins caught his eye. He walked over and lifted one up and noticed that they were very well collected and tanned._

_He glanced around them to see who the seller was and saw a dark haired blood elf. She was watching him, a bit excitedly. Obviously she was having a hard time selling her wares. He glanced at her price sign and noticed that the prices were crossed out several times and lowered to the point they were probably below market value._

_He chuckled, picked the skin up, and walked over to her._ _"Hello. How much is this, miss?" he asked in Orcish._

_She bit her lip and looked at him, and repeated the greeting back to him haltingly. She obviously did not speak the language, which probably explained why she was having such a difficult time selling anything. He sighed and smiled at her, then switched to Common,_ _"What's the price for this?"_

" _Two gold, sir," she said quickly._

_He reached into his pocket and pulled out five gold, handing it to her. When she turned to give him three gold back, he waved his hand and shook his head._ _"Keep it. It's not worth just two gold."_

_She smiled at him and bowed her head._ _"Thank you. Happy Winter Veil, sir."_

" _And to you," he said, then looked around. He'd give this to his sister - it was large enough to make a blanket. He would have to ask her what they should get their mother. The woman was always difficult to buy gifts for, since she had saved up more gold than her two children and thus would just buy whatever she wanted herself._

_It would be about three hours before his sister got back to Orgrimmar from her trip to Thunder Bluff to visit a friend, though, and he had nothing else to do. He glanced back at the blood elf, whom he noticed was no longer paying attention to him and instead packing up the few skins she had. He had been in battle enough to know when someone was nervous, and she obviously was - every time an orc or troll walked up, she tensed slightly. She obviously knew no one there._

_Poor girl was spending Winter Veil alone._

_Phogrim sighed and rubbed his forehead, then spoke quietly._ _"Miss?" When she turned around, he continued. "Are you here by yourself? I haven't seen any of your people all day."_

_She frowned slightly and did not answer at first, as if she expected it to be a trick, but slowly nodded._ _"Yeah. I'm just out exploring the different Horde cities. I finally saved up enough money for the zeppelin ride from Undercity."_

" _Would you like to go get a drink and something to eat? I have some time to kill. I'll help you carry your things if you'll hold onto my purchase until I can surprise my sister with it."_

_She paused and considered his offer, then nodded._ _"Okay."_

_He lifted up the heavy crate and carried it to the tavern. When he got inside, he stuck the skin inside of it and closed the lid, then sat down at a table._ _"What's your name?" he asked._

" _Belidora. Belidora Bloodfeather. What's yours?"_

" _Phogrim Warfang," he said, then listened as she repeated it under her breath. He had heard some of the other blood elves speaking to each other in their strange melodic language. It could not be more unlike Orcish, which is probably why she was having difficulty. At least she was trying. "Are you trying to make enough money to buy Winter Veil gifts? You're a little late."_

" _No," she said quietly as the barkeep brought by a plate of cheese and bread and a few mugs of ale._

" _Do your people not celebrate Winter Veil?"_

" _No, no. We do. It's just that…" she started, then trailed off. He could guess what she was probably about to say and kicked himself for asking such an inconsiderate question, but she continued. "I'm just selling furs to travel. Pay for food and to stay at inns. I have not seen much of Azeroth, and since we joined the Horde, there are cities I can go to that weren't possible before."_

" _Most elves seem to prefer Silvermoon."_

" _It is beautiful, but . . . I kind of like to be out of the city," she said vaguely, looking around._

_He reached over and tapped her mug with one of his large fingers until she looked at him._ _"Beer," he said in Orcish. When she looked at him questioningly, he repeated the word in Common. She smiled as she caught on and repeated after him. He went on and continued to name items with her repeating after him, then let her try to remember them. At least she was a fast study, it seemed._

_The game went on for the next few hours, and as they drank more alcohol he noticed that she relaxed more and more to the point that she would look around and watch the other patrons curiously. She even would laugh at him at times. She seemed to be quite unlike many of her fellow blood elves, which she explained at length were properly called sin_ _'dorei, meaning 'children of the blood,' and that they had once been quel'dorei, or 'children of noble birth.'_

_He had tried in the past to make conversation with the newest members of the Horde, but many of them had been either too haughty to speak with him at length or were afraid of him._

_He remembered Warchief Thrall_ _'s words to some of the complainants when their admittance to the Horde had been announced: "I know our new comrades can be difficult to deal with at times, but show them the same patience and respect you would show anyone else in the Horde. They are your brothers and sisters now, as much as the Tauren, trolls, and Forsaken. Many of them have lost everything."_

_Phogrim noticed the girl watching some soldiers who had come in and sat down next to their table. They were dressed in fine platemail and were talking loudly in Orcish. He bumped her on her shoulder._ _"Don't stare at them," he said._

" _Who are they?"_

" _Kor'kron," he said and she repeated it. "It's just a name. They're the greatest warriors the Horde has to offer. They're good people, but you probably should not draw attention to yourself. They may take offense."_

_Her eyes widened and she nodded at him, looking down at her mug, then back up as someone approached him from behind. He jumped slightly as strong arms wrapped around his throat, albeit not too tightly._ _"How are you, little brother?" a voice said in his ear and he cringed when the orc woman kissed him on his temple._

" _Happy Winter Veil, Seneda," he said quietly as she sat down._

_She turned to the young blood elf, who was watching them curiously._ _"Hello," she said in Orcish. The girl quickly returned the greeting, so at least she had gotten that down. "What's your name, elf?"_

_When Seneda got a blank stare in response, Phogrim answered in Orcish,_ _"Say, 'My name is Belidora.'" She girl haltingly did so and he grinned at his sister. "We're working on it."_

_Seneda smiled and shook the elf_ _'s hand, and they began speaking in a mixture of Common and Orcish. If anything, the new member of the Horde was going to have quite the expanded vocabulary by the end of the day._

_Phogrim and Seneda continued to speak to each other for awhile until he noticed that the blood elf was trying to listen in on the Kor_ _'kron guards' conversation again. It was hard not to - they were drinking quite a bit and were speaking loudly to one another. She frowned and muttered a word to him, to which he replied, "That's 'Warchief.' Complainin' about their boss Thrall, it seems."_

_Belidora gave him a shocked expression and shrunk down in her chair slightly._ _"What?" he asked. "Drunk soldiers complain about the Warchief all the time. It's tradition." He laughed, taking another drink of his ale until he noticed her still staring at him strangely._

" _Really?" she said quietly, looking around. Her nervousness had suddenly returned, it seemed, and it was about a dozen times worse now._

" _Yeah. Why would it be that big of a deal? Thrall doesn't care, not as long as we actually follow his orders."_

_She was still staring at him, but nodded slowly, picking up her ale and taking a deep breath. He watched her for a moment until his sister tapped him on the shoulder, giving him a look as if to tell him she would explain it later. She had been in Outland for a few months and had a lot more interaction with their new allies than he had._

_When they finished their meal and drinks, Belidora smiled at the two._ _"Thank you for eating with me," she said in slow Orcish, then switched back to Common so she could speak faster. "I should probably go see if they have any beds left."_

_The girl got up and started walking toward the innkeeper to negotiate a price when Seneda bumped her brother on his shoulder._ _"Is she here by herself?" she asked._

" _Yeah. Said she was."_

" _Don't let her stay in an inn on Winter Veil, you idiot. Tell her to come home with us. She's probably spent the last several Winter Veils alone," she snapped._

" _Don't we need to ask mother?"_

" _She makes enough food to make the entire Kor'kron guard. Look at her. Does she look like she eats much?"_

_Phogrim frowned and looked over at the elf, then got up and walked over to her. He tapped her on her shoulder and she jumped, but turned and looked up at him. He smiled politely._ _"We would be honored if you would come share the holiday feast with our family," he said gently._

_She looked shocked by the offer, but smiled and said nervously,_ _"I don't want to intrude. It's time for you to be with your family."_

_He slapped her gently on the back, causing her to stumble forward slightly, but he smiled._ _"Well, you elves are family now. Come on, my mother would love to meet you, I'm sure."_

_She frowned but nodded, walking after him shyly. Seneda smiled at the two of them and got up from the table. Phogrim bent down and picked up the crate of skins and furs and they departed. He looked over at his sister._ _"What are we going to get our wonderful mother for Winter Veil?"_

" _Oh, I have that covered," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a beautiful necklace decorated with a large red gemstone in the center. A few tusks from some unknown creature decorated the rest of the strand. "At least I have my gift to her covered. I don't know what you're going to do."_

" _Can I go in on that with you?"_

" _Lazy orc. Get your own gift."_

" _Come on, Seneda. I haven't been to Outland. I'm stuck in Orgrimmar until they call for me. There's nothing here for me to buy for her."_

_She sighed and rolled her eyes._ _"Fine. You can pay for half," she said. She looked back at the blood elf and showed her the necklace. "Do you think this is a good gift for our mother?"_

" _It's lovely," the elf said politely._

_Seneda fell back slightly and put her arm around the smaller girl_ _'s shoulders, pulling her forward so she was walking with them instead of behind them. "Don't be nervous. Our mother loves guests. She's a shaman, like Phogrim here. They're the healers and wisest of our people," she said. "Don't know why they let him train to be one, but whatever."_

" _Hey!" he snapped back, but she just laughed at him._

_They eventually made it to the Valley of Spirits. Phogrim glanced back when the blood elf jumped slightly as a troll walked past, but Seneda told her quietly,_ _"They're Darkspear. Not Amani. They're not going to hurt you." He shrugged and knocked on the door._

_It flew open and the older female orc smiled at her son, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek._ _"You're late," she said, but smiled. "And have you already been drinking?"_

" _We were entertaining someone," he said quietly, motioning over his shoulder at the other two. Seneda walked up and hugged her mother, but the blood elf hung back, still watching the Darkspear trolls warily. Luckily they seemed to be used to it, since most of them paid her no mind._

_Phogrim smiled slightly when his mother smiled and walked over to the elf. He could not hear what was said between the two, but it was an extended conversation in hushed tones. He did notice when Belidora frowned and shook her head, starting to look down at the ground, but stopped when the orc threw her arms around her, hugging her. It obviously startled the blood elf slightly, but she slowly hugged her back and smiled._

_His mother always did have a good sense of how to comfort someone and put them at ease. He hoped he would someday be as good of a healer as she had been._

#

Justin propped his head up on his hand and watched as his mother and father chatted and his sister gawked at the Horde soldiers. In the short time he had been inside Legerdemain Lounge with him, he had learned all sorts of new insults from his father, from orcs (green skinned brutes) to blood elves (fel-tainted traitors). He glanced over at Kallie to see her turned around, staring at a Tauren warrior, who thankfully was not paying attention to her. Justin kicked her gently under the table for the dozenth time. "Don't stare. It's rude," he said quietly.

"It's a _cow._ "

"Tauren, Kallie. Tauren."

"It's a cow wearing _pants._ "

Justin laughed. "Finish your cocoa before it gets cold. It's nasty cold."

The girl picked up the mug and began to drink again. Justin watched her for a moment and then blinked when the barista set down a small tray of brownies in front of them. He looked up at her. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we didn't order these," he said politely.

"I know you didn't. They were sent from another table, with appreciation and a wish for a Happy Winter Veil."

He looked around the crowded shop. "Who sent them?"

"They asked they not be identified."

He watched the barista walk away, then exchanged a glance with Kathkin. The gnome climbed up onto her chair and stood on it, looking around the room as well. He helped her for a moment, but did not see anyone familiar until his father laughed. "Dalaran brownies! Well, thank you, you two," he said. Dalaran brownies were his father's favorite.

He started to explain that they did not buy them, but Kathkin spoke up first. "You're welcome, Mr. Crawford. Thank you for taking us out for cocoa." When the man nodded and began to eat, going back to telling his wife something, Kathkin whispered to Justin. "Look, over on the couch in the corner. Our friends from Stormheim."

He looked behind him after making sure his parents were not watching. Sure enough, there were the three Horde soldiers, sitting on the couch. Well, the blood elf was lying between the other two, leaning her back against the troll and her boots resting on the orc's knees. The orc and troll were discussing something, although it was mostly the troll. Judging from the other two's laughter - and the fact that the troll jumped to his feet to continue talking where he could gesture, sending the elf flat onto her back - he was probably spinning another tale.

They did not look over at him, instead focusing on the troll's story. Justin shook his head. It was the first time he had seen them healthy and strong, and although they were still technically enemies, it made him happy.

"They paid us back," Kathkin said quietly to him.

Justin smiled and turned back to where his parents and sister were happily eating the treats and laughing. If his father only knew…

#

The three young Horde soldiers made it back to the Filthy Animal early so they could claim a place next to the hearth. Belidora looked at Jof and knew the troll was probably grateful. It was much warmer here than it was outside, or even in other parts of the inn. The sin'dorei watched quietly as the two boys exchanged gifts (some potion vials for Phogrim, a small enchanted trinket for Jof). She pulled a large box in front of her and pushed it toward the Darkspear. "This is for you."

"Ju didn't need ta get me anyt'ing, girl," he said quietly. He smiled and grabbed the box, tearing off the wrapping paper.

"Well, I couldn't find a skull."

He grinned mischievously at her and opened the box. Inside were some large boots, cut and shaped for troll feet. He looked at them curiously and pulled them out.

"I hope they fit," she said shyly. "It's kind of hard to find shoes for trolls, and since you never wore any I didn't know what size…"

"Plus you won't lose any toes to frostbite when we go to Highmountain," Phogrim said, trying to open his own gift from the blood elf.

Jof smiled at her and hugged her gently. "T'ank ya. Ju a pretty nice girl, for an elf."

She rolled her eye at him and smiled, then yawned. She was exhausted. She had been up half the night (like she usually was), but at least she had gotten the shopping done. She leaned back against a pillar in the room and watched Phogrim open his gift.

He finally opened the box and pulled the necklace out. It was simple, with some small trinkets and bones on it (like she had seen other orcs wear), but it was enchanted as well. Thankfully, Phogrim had gotten Jof that trinket so they should both be kept safe by the magic.

Belidora felt a bit guilty for not getting them something a bit larger, but then enchantments were expensive, as was paying the leatherworker (even if she had supplied the skins). She had spent a lot of her gold from Stormheim on alcohol, unfortunately and much as she hated to admit it.

She smiled slightly when her friend hugged her and thanked her for the gift, then she closed her eyes. "Happy Winter Veil, you guys. I'm glad I got to spend it with you," she said sincerely, but tiredly.

Jof shook her shoulder gently. "'Ey. We got ju somet'ing too. Don't be sleepin' on us."

She opened up her eyes and looked at the two. Phogrim nodded. "It's underneath my cot," he said to the troll, pointing upstairs.

"And?" Jof replied.

Phogrim opened his mouth, as if to tell him to go get it, then rolled his eyes and got up. "I'll be right back."

Jof sat down in front of the blood elf. "I t'ink ju will like it."

"What is it?"

"Well, I couldn't find a skull, either. Besides, dey be too much work. First ya got ta cut off da head, den ju have to boil it…"

"Stop, stop!"

He smiled at her. "Maybe it be a new eyepatch," he said, tapping her on the forehead, just above where hers was. She started to scowl at him, but he continued. "Maybe one wit' a Horde symbol on it. Or a smiley face."

She frowned at him, then broke out into a grin, laughing. She used to get quite upset at his mentioning the injury, but he had persisted over time and she had to admit that he was kind of funny.

Okay, very funny.

Phogrim walked back downstairs, carrying a long box. He set it down in front of her gently. She grabbed the red wrapping paper and started pulling it off quickly and opening the box.

Inside was a sword. It was a short sword and sized for an elf. It was also very well made, with a beautiful red and gold hilt and black scabbard. She pulled it out carefully and unsheathed it, examining it in the firelight. There was a faint glow of arcane around it that probably only she could see.

"Thank you," she said, shocked.

"It be bettah den ju tryin' ta fight with dat little knife of yours when ju run outta arrows," Jof explained. "We got it in Silvahmoon when ju were restin' from ya eye t'ing."

She sheathed it again and hugged Jof first, then walked over to Phogrim. He hugged her back then pulled back a bit. "Now, you need to learn how to use it. It's different than your polearm, and I'm not very good with a sword. Neither is Jof…"

"I be great at everyt'ing," the troll interrupted.

"But we asked the warrior trainer in Orgrimmar to show you the ropes," he finished, ignoring Jof completely. "I suggest you go visit him tomorrow. We only have a few days to prepare for Highmountain." He ruffled her hair gently. "Hopefully this can keep you out of trouble. We have a long battle ahead."

#

Archmage Khadgar stepped out of the Violet Citadel and took a breath of air. It was chilly, but the mages had slowed the snowfall to where it was barely just flurries. He looked around and smiled at the lights and wreaths hung up on the shops, as well as the still ongoing snowball war between the Alliance and Horde soldiers. Thankfully that had slowed considerably as they got either too cold or too tired to continue.

It was lovely, but Khadgar's favorite part was whenever he looked up at the sky. For the first time since the Legion had invaded months ago, the fel storm was completely hidden by the snow-filled clouds. Yes, it was a lovely, peaceful scene indeed.

He still had the stuffy dinner to go to, so he walked quickly through the snow covered streets, having to dodge snowballs more than once. At least the soldiers apologized when they realized who he was, but he would just laugh and wave at them. Snowballs were not that big of a deal when he could encase himself in a block of ice on a moment's notice.

Two small children, a human boy and a sin'dorei girl, were watching a Kirin Tor mage excitedly as he formed colorful rainbow balls of arcane energy and had them dance around. The two giggled as the mage tossed some enchanted dust in the air above their heads to allow it to rain down on them, causing them to glow and sparkle. They grinned at each other and ran off. Khadgar considered that they had almost certainly sneaked away from their parents (seeing as they were playing together at all), but he welcomed the scene all the same. Maybe the next generation would be different?

He finally got to his destination, where he found the large tree erected in the middle of the Magus Commerce Exchange. Around it were hundreds of wrapped packages which, truthfully, Khadgar was a little surprised they got finished with in a day, even with the use of magic. Kalec and Archmage Modera were standing slightly apart from the soldiers gathered around the tree.

"Happy Winter Veil, Modera, Kalec," he said, throwing open his arms. The woman turned and smiled, embracing him as you would a close friend. Kalec smiled back at him as well.

"I hope this is what you had in mind," Kalec said quietly, smiling at the crowd.

"Did you have them wrapped like I requested?"

The blue dragon nodded and grinned.

Khadgar walked up to the crowd and spoke as loudly as he could. They were busy chatting (albeit staying within their own faction crowds), but after a few tries he got their attention.

When they finally turned around and watched him, he spoke again. "Thank you for coming. As you all know, this has been a . . . difficult year for all of us. We have lost many good men and women in this fight against the Legion.

"This is but a simple gesture, but it is to show you all that your sacrifices and work have not been forgotten by those you left behind. Underneath this tree are presents sent from home - from Stormwind, from Ironforge, from Orgrimmar, from Thunder Bluff, and from everywhere else you hail from. Some, I'm sure, come from your families and friends. Some come from your chapels, your orphanages, your merchants. But they were all sent with love and with prayers for your victory and safe return.

"Go on, now. Open your gifts. Happy Winter Veil."

The scene descended into chaos, as Khadgar assumed it would as soon as he gave them permission, but he stepped back to stand with his fellows. The packages were not marked and were wrapped in green and red wrapping paper, as he had requested, so the soldiers simply grabbed whatever was closest or looked like it was the best.

It took only a few seconds to hear some groans of disappointment from them. As he had suspected, the presents from the cities came with a decidedly factional flair - either red and black or blue and gold, or with the faction symbols actually on them. They had roughly a fifty percent chance of getting something they did not want.

Hopefully they would realize what they needed to do.

It took a few minutes, but the first exchange happened. A beautiful draenei paladin walked up to a female orc (warrior, judging by her armor), and held out a large pair of gloves. The orc looked at it curiously, then grinned, handing the paladin the ornate purple cloak she had received. Soon, others joined suit, and the laughter and somewhat broken dialogue commenced.

"How did you come up with such an idea, Khadgar?" Modera whispered to him.

"I've been saying it for years," he said quietly, smiling as the soldiers stood around, no longer sticking just with their factional lines as they critiqued each other's gifts. "If they want to accomplish something great, they need to work together."

#

**_Author's Note: Yes, it's almost nothing but fluff, but sometimes fluff is what you need._ **

_**Also, conjuring snow and organizing a surprise Dirty Santa is totally something Khadgar would do and you will never convince me otherwise.** _


End file.
